Book 45 - Season Of Truth, Season Of Death
by GailDunn2
Summary: WARNING: ADULT THEMES AND SITUATIONS. The Beast has arrived, and the Angels face yet another crisis. An old enemy of Team Free Will has returned, with a deadly surprise for the Winchesters. Unlikely alliances form as sides are chosen, and overseas, battle lines are being drawn. How many lives will be sacrificed along the way?
1. Sabatoge

BOOK 1 – WAKE UP, EVERYBODY (HIVER)

Chapter 1 – Sabotage

The Angels had talked for most of the night, but no real consensus had been reached as to what they were going to do about the situation.

Bobby was prepared to accept that Damien was Vincent's son, not Sam's. The Winchesters' old family friend and paternal figure had been mainly happy when Becky had given birth to the baby they'd all thought was Sam's at the time. Neither Sam nor Dean were getting any younger, and Brian had been the closest to an actual grandson Bobby was probably ever gonna have. Frank's kids called him their Grandpa, but it just wasn't the same. But Becky was all wrong for Sam, and as it had turned out, Bobby had hardly seen Brian, once he'd been born. As far as Bobby knew, none of the rest of the family had seen the boy much either, not even Sam, himself.

But these three were insisting that Brian, or Damien, or whatever the hell they were supposed to call him now, was the Beast of the Apocalypse, and that was a much harder sell. Even if the kid did turn out to be Vincent's instead of Sam's, why would that mean that Damien was any more evil than Eric had been, or Rob, or even Gail, herself? Weren't they all Vincent's children, too? And, OK, that JD had been a real piece of work, but how about all of those innocent kids who had died at the compound?

Bobby had accused Cas of overselling his point. Up until just recently, the kid had been a baby. A helpless infant. Now he was suddenly older; chronologically, at least. But from what Bobby had observed so far, the kid was still an innocent, scared little boy. Bobby could only imagine how confusing this whole thing must be for him.

Cas was exasperated. Here they were, standing with God, the three highest-ranking Angels Heaven had, warning him about the Beast of the Apocalypse, and Bobby didn't believe them?

"Show me the proof," Bobby said, sighing. "Show me one single, solitary speck of evidence."

But the three of them were speechless on that score, because of course, they had none.

"Look; we'll keep an eye on him, but we're not gonna just assume the kid's bad just because the Dad is," Bobby told the trio firmly. "Are we, Gail?" he added with emphasis.

She eyed him balefully. "I see what you're doing there, Bobby. But we're not assuming he's bad because he's Vincent's kid, we're saying he's bad because he's the Beast of the damn Apocalypse!"

"How do you know that?" Bobby shot back. "Because Cas says so?"

She stood there, open-mouthed. "Well...yeah! But I believe him, and so should you. You know he knows what he's talking about," she retorted.

"Gabe? What do you have to say about all of this?" Bobby looked at the Archangel, frowning.

"What do you want me to say? He's the real deal, Bobby," Gabriel said, shrugging. "And if we don't deal with him before the anniversary of that stupid spell, we're all screwed."

On and on it went until the morning, but Bobby kept stubbornly insisting that, unless he had definitive proof to the contrary, it was his position that they needed to give Damien and Becky their protection.

Gabriel had thrown his hands up in frustration. "Fine. You're the boss. Just don't blame us when the kid eliminates the entire human race."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Spare me the dramatics." He was still frowning. "I guess we'll hafta have a little talk with Sam and Dean when they get up, though. If Damien isn't Sam's kid, he has the right to know."

"What about Becky?" Gail demanded.

"What about her?" Bobby asked.

"What about the fact that she's been passing him off as Sam's baby, all this time?" she said angrily.

"Look, Gail, I know that Becky can be a little...aggravating, sometimes," Bobby said diplomatically. "But we don't know that she DID do that. Didn't he spend the night with her? As far as we know, she thought he was the father, too."

"She's still insisting he IS the father," Gail pointed out.

"She's probably in denial about the whole thing," Gabriel said, putting his feet up on one of the kitchen table's chairs. "I've seen it before."

Gail was still looking at Bobby, shaking her head slowly. She couldn't believe it. After everything Becky had pulled, he was still defending her. This was unbelieveable.

"Good morning, everybody," Sam said, entering the kitchen. The Angels' hearts sank when they saw that he was holding Damien by the hand. "Somebody's hungry," Sam said affably. "Do you guys have any cereal?"

Cas and Gail exchanged glances with each other, and then with Gabriel. Were they really supposed to feed breakfast cereal to the Beast of the Apocalypse? Gabriel raised an eyebrow to the others. It looked like they were going to have to go behind God's back, on this one.

"I'll see what we have," Cas said coolly. But before he had the chance to check the cupboards, his cell phone rang.

"Call T.O.D. as 7:40 a.m.," Dr. Gatling said to his team.

He stepped back from the gurney, letting out a frustrated breath. They'd done everything they could, but the patient was gone. Well, at least he hadn't died until December 26th. That was a small consolation, but at least his family wouldn't have to hear that Andy had died on Christmas Day.

If he had any family, that was. Dr. Gatling was a fairly new addition to the staff, but he had been briefed about every patient that resided in their most secure ward, and their respective conditions. Andy was a "lifer", or so the notes in his chart said. He was a docile, shuffling old man with the heart and soul of a homicidal maniac. He was dangerously crazy. Gatling pulled the man's most recent file, once he got cleaned up and went back to his office. Maybe Andy didn't have a family. Maybe he'd killed them all, the doctor thought with black humour. But it was a shame nonetheless, no matter which way this went.

Andy sat on the bench in the mist, looking at his surroundings. Not that there was anything much to see. In fact, there was absolutely nothing to see. Everything around him was completely grey. Why was he sitting on a stone bench? Was this Heaven? Or Hell?

A tall, thin shape emerged from the fog, and the man sat next to Andy on the bench. Andy stared at him. He was very well-dressed: suit, tie, and a long overcoat. He even carried a walking stick in one hand. But his expression was dour as he looked at Andy.

"Who are you?" Andy blurted out. "Where are we?"

Death regarded him calmly. They all asked him that; every single one of them. He supposed he could understand why, but it all became quite tedious, after several dozen centuries.

He scrutinized Andy's face. It was curious, really. This man wasn't a homicidal maniac, at all. He was simply a pathetic figure who had been ill-used all his life, an impressionable man who had been persuaded to believe that he was psychotic. Death shook his head. Humans. They were so limited in their scope of understanding.

"Your story is not yet over," Death said to Andy. "I have a message for you to deliver." Then he touched Vincent's brother with his walking stick, and Andy disappeared.

As Christmas Day ended on Earth, Leah was reminiscing about her years spent with her husband and son, back in Biblical times. They had all been God's loyal servants, standing up for what was right. Even though they'd started off on the wrong foot, as the saying went, they had made their atonements. Hadn't they?

She opened the lid of her sewing box, pulling the quilt closer as the vision began to take over.

"You don't know me," Kay said to Cas. "I'm a friend of Andy's. Your wife's uncle. Dr. Gatling called me from the hospital, because I was still listed as next of kin on his file. I told the doctor I haven't seen Andy in years, and then he told me why he was calling." There was a pause. "Andy died."

Cas was surprised. "But...Gail phoned the hospital a week or so ago, to inquire about his condition. They said that he was fine. Then, she sent him his Christmas gift. When did he pass away?"

"This morning," Kay advised Cas, as Gail moved towards her husband. "Cas?" she said uncertainly. He put his arm around her. "Do you mind if I put you on Speaker?" Cas asked the woman. She assented, and he pressed the button, then put his phone on the counter.

Sam had found a box of cereal in the cupboards and poured a bowl of it for Damien, who was seated at the kitchen table. As Cas, Gail and Bobby were all looking at Cas's phone and Sam was heading to the fridge for the milk, Gabriel was eyeing the boy.

"What did he die of?" Gail said, agitated. "They said he was fine!" She didn't know why she was so upset, really. It wasn't as if she and her uncle had had any sort of a relationship, or anything. But she'd just sent him a Christmas present, and she had been considering a visit to him in the New Year. Despite the way her uncle had behaved when they'd been to see him at the sanitarium, Gail still felt sorry for him. This past year, they had lost so many friends and family members that she had thought... Oh, who the hell knew what she had thought?

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that he took an overdose of medication," Kay said sadly. "They tried to bring him back, but by the time he was found, it was already too late."

Something very chilling happened, then: as Cas and Bobby were looking at Gail with concern and Sam was reaching into the fridge for the milk, Damien's face broke into a wide grin. Gabriel's eyes narrowed. The little bastard. Gabe should just go into the dining room and get one of those gold candlesticks, right now. Stir Damien's cereal with it. See if he could choke it down, then.

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Gail said to the caller. "How do you know Andy?"

"Years ago, when we worked together, we were friends," Kay replied. "We even went out on a couple of dates." There was a pause for a moment, and Gail realized that their caller was in tears. That made Gail feel a little bit better, in a strange way. Somebody had cared about Andy.

"My number was on the file, as next of kin," Kay continued. "But that was from a long time ago. Dr. Gatling is new, so he wasn't aware that you're Andy's actual relative. But when he told me that Andy had died, I offered to call you. I thought the news should come from someone who cared about your uncle."

"That was very kind of you," Cas remarked soberly. "May I take down your number? We just need a minute, here."

As Kay was giving Cas her phone number to write down, Sam came back with the milk for Damien's cereal. The boy was no longer grinning, of course. Gail sat down slowly at the kitchen table, stunned. Sam put the milk down on the table next to the bowl. "You OK?" he asked Gail.

"What's going on?" Dean asked. He'd just entered the kitchen, overhearing Sam's question to her.

"Gail's Uncle Andy died," his brother told him.

"Uncle Andy? Chicken Wing Andy? The one we saw in the looney bin?" Dean said, surprised.

"Dean!" Cas admonished his friend, hanging up from Kay on his cell phone.

"Have some respect, Boy," Bobby added, frowning.

"Sorry," Dean said, approaching Gail. "I just thought - "

"I know, right?" she said. "I don't know why - " She gestured with her hands, unable to finish the sentence.

Cas went to where his wife was sitting, and he took her hand. Now what? He supposed, as Andy's next of kin, Gail should go to the sanitarium and speak to her uncle's doctor. If she wanted, they could arrange for a funeral service. Andy's friend Kay had expressed a desire to attend whatever kind of a service they might hold. It didn't really matter to Cas, one way or the other. He supposed he did feel a little sorry for the man. But Cas had not forgotten the threats that Andy had issued towards Gail, either. He was sure that was why his wife was feeling so conflicted, now. It was good of her to have compassion for her uncle, though. Except for this woman Kay, it didn't seem as though anyone else had.

The timing could certainly have been better, however. Cas glanced at Damien. He was eating his cereal now, looking just like any other little boy would. Gabriel was staring at the child with a look of utter contempt on his face.

"If you and Gail need to go there, we can hold down the fort for you, here," Bobby offered.

Now Cas was indecisive. They had the Beast of the Apocalypse here having breakfast at their table, wearing an oversized pair of George's pajamas that Ethan had brought from Heaven, and they were contemplating leaving the house?

Before Cas could say anything further, though, his cell phone rang again.

It was Kay, and she was weeping openly now. "You'll never believe it!" she exclaimed. "The doctor just called me back, and Andy is alive! Apparently, he just suddenly took a huge breath and sat up, asking why there was a sheet on his face!"

Cas was astounded. "Just a moment," he said to her. Gail's husband told her and the others the news, and then Kay went on: "And, there's more. Dr. Gatling said that Andy said he's got something to tell you both, and he needs to tell you right away."

Castiel's eyebrows rose. He stole another glance at Damien, but the boy was still working his way through his cereal, swinging his legs under the table. It was a good thing that Cas hadn't still had his phone on Speaker, though. Cas didn't think it would be advisable for Damien to hear that Andy had a message for the Angels. To Cas, that could mean only one thing: they were about to receive a little otherworldly assistance.

Gail tugged at Cas's sleeve. "Ask her if she wants to come with us, to see him," she said to her husband.

He looked at her, and she shrugged. "She sounded so upset. I just thought she might want to see for herself that he was OK."

Cas smiled warmly, touching her cheek. She was so considerate. He put the phone to his ear to extend the invitation to Kay, and then Cas noticed that Damien was staring at him intently. Cas stared back. If Damien thought he was going to intimidate Cas, he was very much mistaken. Castiel had of necessity killed children before, and he wouldn't hesitate to do so, again.

"Daddy, can I go play with the other kids?" Damien asked Sam, hopping off his chair.

"Sure," Sam said to the child. He glanced uncomfortably at the others. "I guess I should go see if Becky's up, anyway."

The two of them left the room hand in hand, and Gabriel let out a frustrated breath. "I'm on it," the Archangel said to Cas, striding out of the kitchen.

"We'll come there and pick you up," Cas said into the phone. "What's your address?"

After extracting Bobby's promise to call them immediately if there was any trouble, Cas and Gail left the house. Now that Christmas was over, the snow around their house was starting to melt. Despite the stressful atmosphere, Gail smiled at her brother as they moved into the driveway. They had to drive to Kay's house, of course, so Frank had pulled the Charger out in order to let them by. He rolled down the window before Cas pulled away.

"I think we're gonna take off shortly," Gail's brother told them. "Thanks for everything, but I think Rob and I have to have a little chat with Suzanne. She's still kind of freaked out, and it didn't exactly help when we had a few Angels popping out of here, this morning." Then he grinned. "Besides, you guys have your own little 'Maury' thing going on here, don't you? Geez. If I'm that kid, I'm praying on my hands and knees that Sam's my dad, 'cause it sure beats the alternative." Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to, as Gail frowned. "Oh. Sorry, kiddo."

She sighed. "That's OK. You go, and do what you have to do. I'm sorry Christmas got so messed up."

Frank shrugged. "Not your fault. See you later. Give me a call, and let me know how the Baby Drama works out."

Cas pulled out of the driveway, and Gail let out a frustrated breath. He looked at his wife. "Are you all right, my love?"

She frowned. "I guess so, Cas. I just don't even know what to do, any more. I feel like telling you to just keep on driving, till we run out of gas. Let our crazy family sort everything out for themselves." Then she sighed again. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm just venting. But, I swear, if Becky shows up next Christmas, we're moving."

Cas laughed softly. He reached for Gail's hand, and they drove to Kay's house, holding hands the entire way.

Andy was sitting up in bed, surprisingly alert considering the circumstances. He looked downcast when Cas and Gail entered the room, but his expression changed to one of astonishment when he saw Kay.

"Hi, Andy," the older woman said. Gail had initially been surprised when they'd picked Kay up. She was a short woman with steel-grey hair, and lines on her face. But then, Gail realized that Kay and Andy would be around the same age. Of course Kay would be an older woman.

Kay approached Andy's bedside. "What the hell were you thinking?!" she berated him, slapping at his arm. "You scared us!"

Andy went to raise his arm to ward off the blow, and there was a clanking sound. He was attached to the bedrail with handcuffs, and chains. "I'm sorry," he said in a subdued tone. "I'm sorry for what I did. I was just...so despondent. But it wasn't fair to any of you, especially at Christmastime. I apologize for having dragged you down here, for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing," Kay said softly. "And I need to apologize to you, too. I should have come to see you long before this. I told myself it was because I couldn't bear to see you in a place like this, but that was a cop-out. It was because I was too scared to come."

"Of course you were," Andy said, in a reasonable tone. "I don't blame you, Kay. Or you, Gail. I didn't even remember that you were still on my file, Kay. Before I knew about Gail, you were the only person they could possibly call. You know I didn't have any other friends. Oliver wouldn't have anything to do with me, and Vincent...well, Gail and Cas know all about him. I guess I could have reached out to you, Gail, but I behaved so badly the last time you were here that I was sure you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Andy," Gail said compassionately.

"I guess I brought it on myself, though," Andy said softly. "I used to have dreams of getting out of here, and living a normal life." He raised his arms again, showing them the shackles. "But I was only kidding myself. The only way I'm getting out of here is in a pine box."

Kay was crying silent tears. "Don't say that, Andy. You were out there, once. That's how we met, remember? If you work on yourself, like you did before..."

Now Andy was crying, too. "You shouldn't have come here, Kay. I'm crazy. Dangerous. Haven't you heard?"

"How are you so dangerous?" Kay shot back, and now she sounded almost angry. "What did you ever do? In all the time I knew you, I never once saw you do anything that made me feel unsafe. Not once."

"I had bad thoughts," he told her quietly.

"Well, so what?" Kay exclaimed. "Who doesn't?"

Andy sighed. "Do you mind if I talk to my niece, for a minute?"

Kay let out a breath. "No, of course I don't mind. I'll wait out in the hallway."

As Kay slipped out the door, Cas and Gail were looking at each other. This was a different Andy than they were used to seeing. This man sounded calm and reasonable. Sane, even. But they'd also seen that status change, in the blink of an eye.

"Cas, I'd like to speak to Gail alone, please," Andy stated.

"That is out of the question," Cas informed him.

"Please," Andy implored him.

There was silence for a moment, and then Gail said, "It's OK, Cas. I'll talk to him."

"I understand your concern, Cas, but you have nothing to worry about, I promise," Andy said mildly. "Besides..." He showed them the shackles again.

Cas stood there, frowning. He didn't like it, but he supposed he had no solid basis for objection, under the circumstances. He kissed his wife on the forehead. "I'll be right outside," he told her, but he was looking at Andy when he said it.

Once Cas had stepped into the hallway, Gail looked closely at her uncle's face. "You seem different," she remarked.

"I am. Gail. I really am," he said eagerly. "I died."

She continued to regard him, so Andy took a breath, and then he told her about the man with the walking stick. "He said my story wasn't over, yet. And, he said he had a message for me to give to you."

Gail's heart began to race. Death had a message for them?

"He said to tell you that the Chosen One is in Kansas City, at Mercy Hospital. He was crossing the street to board a bus that was going to take him to Lebanon, and then he was hit by a vehicle, and seriously injured. He's recuperating now, but he told the staff that his family may be looking for him: his brothers Cas and Gabe, and his sister, Gail." Andy smiled at the astonished look on her face. "Does any of that make sense to you?"

"Believe it or not, yes, it does," she said. So that's where Josiah has been, she thought.

"Then he touched me with the walking stick, and he cured me," Andy said matter-of-factly.

Gail looked at her uncle sharply. "He...what?" she said disbelievingly.

"He cured me," Andy repeated, and then he started to smile. "I'm sane now, Gail. I don't have bad thoughts, any more. I'm not delusional any more. It was Vincent, putting those thoughts in my head. It was never me. I wanted to apologize to you for my behaviour towards you, from the bottom of my heart. I know I can never make it up to you, but I just wanted you to know that I'm all right, now. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life here, I'm okay with that, because I know now that I'm not crazy. I'm OK, Gail." Tears pooled in his eyes. "I was feeling sorry for myself because I didn't get a Christmas present from you this year, but I realize now that I've gotten an even better gift. I've got my sanity back, and I also got to see Kay again."

Gail was quiet as she digested what Andy had told her. She didn't think he was lying to her about having been cured. His demeanour was entirely different, now. Nor did it surprise her that Death could cure mental illness, if he so chose. Obviously, Death wanted to help them deal with the Beast. That made sense to her, too. He'd helped them defeat Lucifer also, hadn't he? Death was a fan of the status quo, so if Vincent was going to use Damien somehow to bring about an apocalyptic event, it was only logical that Death would want to prevent that. What a weird way to send them assistance, though. Still, now they had a location for the Chosen One, and apparently, Andy had his sanity back. It was a win-win, in her book.

Of course, they still had a bunch of problems, going forward. For every win, there was also a loss. Andy had his sanity now, but he was chained to a bed in a mental institution, because they knew him to be crazy, here. Were they just going to take his word for it that he was fine? Oh, yeah. Right. Maybe Andy could tell them that Death had cured him of his insanity, so that he could come back from the dead, to give his Angel relatives a message about how to kill a nine-year-old child, who just happened to be the Beast of the Apocalypse. They'd be sure to release him from the mental hospital then, wouldn't they?

Maybe Gail could talk to Cas about that. See if there was anything they could do, to intervene on Andy's behalf. But, that was hardly the biggest problem they had right now. If the three of them went to see Josiah, the Chosen One, and if he had Gabriel's blade, and if he was aware that he was supposed to kill Damien with it, how were they supposed to convince Sam that the boy had to die?

Gail's head was spinning. Something else occurred to her now, too: another mystery, although this one wasn't nearly as thorny as the other ones. Still, she wanted to know. "Wait a minute," Gail said to her uncle. "You said you didn't get a Christmas present from us this year. But, I sent you one!"

"Actually, she did," Cedric said, striding into the room. As he pushed open the door, Cas and Kay came back into the room, behind him. Cas was looking at Gail, wondering if everything was all right. Yes, she told him on their frequency. Well, mostly. They'd talk in a minute.

Cedric was holding Andy's gift from Gail and Cas. He'd gone to see his co-worker, the guy who'd taken the old man's gift on Christmas morning, and told him he'd better give it back, or Ced was going to report him. The guy had done a bit of grumbling, but not too much. Everybody at the institution now knew that Andy had tried to kill himself that same day.

Ced had rewrapped the gift, and he had even put a brightly-coloured bow on the top. "Merry Christmas," he said to Andy, placing the gift on the bed next to the patient. "This is from your niece and nephew, here. Sorry you didn't get it, yesterday. Santa must have gone down the wrong chimney, or something. If you promise to behave, I'll take the cuffs off, so you can open it yourself."

Andy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The orderly freed the patient, stepping back to give him a little space. Andy put the box on his lap, and looked at it for a moment. His heart was so full right now that he didn't trust himself to speak.

He opened the wrapping, and lifted the box to reveal a pair of soft, fluffy slippers. "They're just what I wanted," Andy said in a trembling voice. Now, he started to cry. He couldn't help it. "Thank you," he said to the Angels. "This is the best Christmas I ever had."

Cedric's forehead wrinkled. Here this guy was, chained to a bed in a mental institution after having tried to kill himself, and he was saying that? Yeah, he was nuts, all right. Still, Ced was happy that everything had worked out all right in the end. Well, as well as it could have anyway, considering where they were.

"Cas and I have to leave," Gail told her uncle. "But we'll be in touch again, soon." She looked at Kay. "Would you like to come with us?"

But Andy's lady friend was shaking her head. She looked at Cedric. "Would it be all right if I visited with Andy for a while? I can take the bus home, afterwards."

Ced shrugged. "Sure, lady. It's fine by me. In fact, if you want to hang around for a bit, I'll snag some leftover turkey for you both."

Kay hugged the orderly impulsively. "Thank you. That would be wonderful." Then she hugged Cas and Gail, too. "You know what? In a lot of ways, this is turning out to be the best Christmas I've ever had, too!" Andy's friend told them.

A moment later, when the Angel couple said their goodbyes, Kay had pulled up a chair beside the bed, and she and Andy were smiling warmly at each other. Cas took Gail's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Merry Christmas, my love," he said over their frequency. "Merry Christmas, sweetie," she responded, and then they left the hospital.

The warm and fuzzy feeling didn't last, though. By the time Cas pulled the car into their driveway, the two of them had talked about the situation, and they were in agreement about what they were going to do, going forward. Regarding Andy's mental health, Castiel had no doubts that Death had cured Gail's uncle. The ancient entity would definitely have that power. And Cas agreed with his wife now that they should try to intervene on Andy's behalf. Once the urgent matter of the Beast was dealt with, the Angels agreed that if there had been no further incidents involving Andy, they would use their Angelic influence to get him released from the sanitarium.

But the much bigger problem was made even larger still by the fact that, when they got back to their house, the Impala was gone, and so was everyone else. All of them.

As soon as Castiel and Gail had left the house, Damien went to work on Sam. He'd climbed onto the younger Winchester's lap with a book, calling him Daddy, and asking if they could read together. Maybe his Dad could help him with some of the words. Mommy had tried to teach him how to read, but she had told him that his father knew way more words than she did. Sam had laughed softly and put his arms around the boy as Becky smiled at the two of them.

Dean felt like he was gonna throw up. After Cas and Gail had gone, the rest of the Angels left too, and so had Frank and his little crew. Bobby had taken the Canadian contingent home, and unfortunately, Nicole had opted to go with them. She'd pulled Dean aside and told him that she wanted to stay out of the whole Baby Drama situation. Nicole loved Dean, but it was her Christmas holiday too, and she didn't intend to spend it watching them all yell at each other. Dean had opened his mouth to protest, but then he had closed it again, admitting to himself that that was pretty much exactly what was going to happen.

Dean could see it on his brother's face: whether Sam believed that Vincent was Damien's father or not, Sam wanted to be the kid's dad. And whether Becky actually knew who Damien's real dad was or not, she was already adding the metaphorical second coat of paint to the proverbial white picket fence.

Bobby's expression was fairly neutral, but Dean was interested to see that Gabriel looked just as sickened as the elder Winchester felt by the sight. That was kind of weird. What did Gabriel care, one way or the other? Dean had also been surprised that Gabe was still hanging around. Christmas was over now, and Gabriel the Archangel wasn't exactly here for the leftover turkey sandwiches.

Then, Becky started in: Why were they hanging around here? she asked the men. Cas and Gail weren't even home, and everybody else had gone.

So...what? Gabriel had asked her. Did she have someplace she had to be, or something?

No, but...Becky had hesitated for a moment. Then she blurted out that Damien wasn't comfortable here. Her and Sam's son was still trying to adjust to being suddenly nine years old, and on the run from Vincent. And it didn't exactly help that every time Becky turned around, Gail was yelling at her. Neither she nor her son were comfortable in this house, and if Sam cared about Damien's well-being, he would take them to the bunker, where he would be safe from Vincent. The poor boy had had nightmares throughout most of the night, because he was so scared of Vincent.

Kid looked perfectly fine to him, Gabriel had remarked coolly, but now Sam was looking thoughtful. He had heard Becky, of course. She hadn't made any sort of effort not to be heard by him. Which, of course, had been by design.

And then, sure enough, Sam looked at Dean. "Could I talk to you for a minute?" he asked his brother.

And that had been that. Sam had made up his mind to bring Becky and Damien home to the bunker, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it. He didn't even bother trying to talk Sam out of it, because really, what was the alternative? No matter how Dean felt about Man-Trap Becky, there was no way Dean could let a little kid go unprotected. That was the bottom line. Dean really didn't know of Damien was Sam's kid or Vincent's, but he guessed that didn't matter; not ultimately. They all knew that Vincent wasn't the least bit shy when it came to killing children, not even when they were his own. Just look at what had happened at that compound. And, on the off chance that Damien really was Sam's son, Dean would die before he would let anything happen to him.

So when Cas and Gail returned from the mental hospital, they found their house empty, except for one very morose-looking Archangel, sitting alone at the kitchen table.

Vincent and Abbadon were relaxing in chaise loungers on the beach, being served cocktails by members of Vincent's flock. He noted with amusement that the men were all jostling with each other to be the one to replenish the shapely brunette's glass. Then, at a certain point, Abbadon had held up a tube of sunscreen and announced loudly that she needed someone to help her apply it. Vincent had grinned as a skirmish had nearly broken out among the men, with one of the young ladies in the mix, as well. Excellent. Abbadon had chosen an extremely well-built young man by the name of Franklin for the task, but the half-Demon woman had also winked at a couple of the others, including the girl, and promised them that she would be needing another re-application, very soon.

Damn, she was good. Vincent got up from his chair and stretched languorously, flashing her a grin. Then he went inside the cabana, leaving instructions with the young cabana staff that he did not want to be disturbed.

Vincent sat cross-legged on the feather bed he kept as a centrepiece in the large beach tent and closed his eyes, sending a message to Damien. Nothing. But instead of being angry about that, Papa Legba smiled. That meant that his son had successfully infiltrated the God Squad's inner sanctum. Not that Vincent had been too concerned about Damien's ability to charm Sam Winchester into taking the boy under his wing. The poor sap was probably posting pictures of the little tyke on Facebook and Instagram right now. Before sending mother and son off to the Angels' house for their heartwarming Christmas reunion, Vincent had given Becky a couple of very strict instructions. The first and most important thing was for her to keep on insisting that Damien was Sam's kid. It didn't matter what anybody else said, or did; little Damien was a Winchester boy. Period. End of story. Vincent now knew that his daughter Gail had taken a stroll in Becky's mostly empty head and found out that Sam wasn't the actual Baby Daddy. Luckily, that was all she'd found out. If Castiel knew how advanced the Beast's development had accelerated, Vincent's son-in-law would have made the elimination of the boy his Number One priority, Sam or no Sam. But by sending Damien and Becky right into the vipers' nest, as it were, Vincent had made the pre-emptive strike he'd needed to make. Now that the Winchesters had seen a frightened and bewildered little kid appealing to them with wide-eyed innocence to protect him from the Big Bad Wolf, there was no way they were going to let anyone harm a hair on the boy's head. Not that Papa believed they actually could. If the so-called Chosen One existed, Cas would have produced him by now.

Vincent had been hoping to have the Prophet in his stable by now too, but he was still in the dark about who that was, or where he was located. Oh, well. All in good time. It wasn't even the New Year, yet. Everything had been going his way, lately. He saw no reason for that to change.

Keeping his eyes closed, Vincent allowed his mind to wander. He pictured himself standing on a mountaintop with his arms open wide, watching them all emerge from the ground: his own personal Army of the Undead. The world was going to be Vincent's for the taking. Let the Angels stay in Heaven where they belonged, and Crowley and his low-rent Demons stay where they belonged. Vincent had no use for idiots, or thugs. He was going to cherry-pick the best of the worst, the crème de la crème of vicious, bloodthirsty killers right out from their graves. Once his Undead Army slew everyone that needed a good slaying, Vincent could decide where he went from there.

He patted his chest where the small vial rested under his shirt, hanging from a gold chain. "It won't be long, now," the Voodoo Priest said calmly. He frowned for a moment. He would have liked to have had JD, but Castiel had burned Vincent's son's body, and the ashes had been beyond salvage. Damien was an upgrade, but it never hurt to have another cold-blooded assassin in the ranks.

The one Vincent had around his neck would do just fine, though. And what was even better, this particular individual hated the Angel that Vincent wanted to target the most.

"Let this be a lesson to my dear daughter," Vincent said to Jason's ashes with the darkest of good humour. "The next time she's standing over the ashes of one of her worst enemies, she should finish the job."

Vincent chuckled at his little joke. He couldn't wait to see their faces.

Damien had taken a moment, before getting out of the car. Dean had rolled the Impala into the bunker's garage and shut off the engine, and the boy had sat there in the back seat, next to God himself, staring at the door that led inside the place. This was it. In a minute, he was going to see if he could walk right into that bunker, or if he was going to burst into flames.

During one of their constant beachside chats, Vincent had advised Damien that he could see no issue with the boy being able to enter the bunker. Despite the fact that he was the Beast of the Apocalypse, who had been foretold, currently Damien was a nine-year-old child who had never done anything so evil as to be prevented from passing through the bunker's protections. His mother had force-fed blood and human flesh to Damien, who had been a helpless little baby at the time. It wasn't like he could have done anything about it, floating knives and flying furniture aside. It could be argued that Damien had sent those projectiles to attack Becky, because the child had been trying to make her stop. Vincent had improvised that last part, but once he'd said it, the father had told the son that conviction was the key, here. If Damien believed that, the others would believe it, too. Then he had pictured Becky's face, if and when her son sold her out that way, and he'd thrown back his head and laughed. He laughed so hard and so long that the palm trees near the beach shook violently, so violently that coconuts began to drop to the ground.

It may not come to that, but Vincent had left the option to decide up to Damien, young as he may be. Becky meant nothing to Vincent, one way or the other. The important thing was to get Damien into that bunker. By whatever means necessary.

Damien was still sitting in the back of the Impala now, thinking about all that. His mother sighed, opening the back door and sliding out her side. Bobby had already gotten out on the other side, as had the Winchesters. That left Damien by himself, in the centre.

Both Sam and Becky poked their heads in the car. "It's okay, Damien. Don't be scared. You're safe, here," Sam said gently.

For a split second, Damien had a thought that was so disconcerting that he didn't know what to do: This must be what it was like to have real parents. A mother and a father who both loved him, and each other, and only cared about the well-being of their family.

Damien started to hyperventilate, and now Dean moved to the back and climbed in beside the boy. "Are you OK?" he asked the child.

"Yeah, I guess so," Damien said, but his head hurt, and his chest hurt, too.

Dean put his arm around the boy's thin shoulders. "Look, I know what happened to you really stinks. I know you must feel really weird, right now. But we're gonna help you, and we're gonna protect you. It's what me and your Dad do."

If Gail had been there, she probably would have hauled Dean away from Damien and smacked him right in the face. But Dean couldn't help it. The instant he had touched Damien, the boy's powers had taken over. Since he'd pictured Sam and Becky as his parents so strongly, the feeling had been transferred to Dean, and now the elder Winchester felt it, too.

"Come in, Damien," Sam said. "We want you to feel like this is your home. Right, Dean?"

"Right," Dean agreed, and Damien smiled, following his faux uncle out of the car. As he approached the door that led into the kitchen area, the young boy's smile widened into a grin. He felt just fine, now. This was going to be a piece of cake. It was just like his real father had said: The trick to running a good con was to believe in what you were trying to sell. If you believed it yourself, others would buy into it. He was going to slip right into that bunker like he had every right to be there.

But now, Becky's stomach was clenching. She felt the waves of power coming from the place, and it was like she was being pushed back with invisible hands. Her chest was tight, and she felt like she was going to throw up. There was no way. There was no way she was going to be able to go in there; not any more. She had killed people to feed Damien, and she had given in to the urges she'd felt when she'd been pregnant with him, and eaten some of it herself. She had killed Quinn, hacking the poor woman to pieces. She had helped Vincent by enabling his plan to decimate the human race. He'd told her what his intentions were, when he'd taken her and Damien to the Caribbean. Vincent intended to infest the Earth with an Unholy and bloodthirsty Undead Army. Just like in the movies, and that TV show, the one with the really scary guy who carried that barbed-wire bat. Then Vincent had released Becky and her son to the custody of God and the Angels at Christmas, after performing some kind of weirdo blood-and-bone ritual that he said was going to let her walk into the place. It had worked, although she'd felt like crap the whole time she'd been there. But it had obviously worn off, now. And the fact that Becky had done absolutely nothing and said even less to any of the people she had accepted "protection" from wasn't exactly helping.

Becky stopped short, about a foot from the door. She couldn't force herself to go any further. Her head swam, and her stomach was killing her. This was almost worse than the labour pains she'd had, when Damien had been ripping his way out of her.

The boy was looking up at her now with that strange little smile on his face, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Oh, who was she kidding? He probably did. She'd seen what he could do back at their house, before Vincent had even gotten there. And ever since the boy's real father had whisked them away to the Caribbean, Damien had gotten much, much worse. Becky had been scared of him before, and now she realized something else: she hated him. She hated her own son. Becky should just tell Sam to kill her, right now.

"Come on, Becky," Sam said softly. "It's OK. You're welcome, here."

Dean opened the door, and the pressure eased. The invitation to enter had been extended. Once one of the Men of Letters invited someone to enter, the warding powered down for that person, no matter how despicable they were. Crowley could definitely attest to that. As powerful an entity as the King of Hell was, he had always been unable to enter the bunker without one of the Winchesters' express invitation to do so.

They all entered the bunker then, Bobby bringing up the rear. He wasn't sure why he'd come, exactly. Maybe he'd just wanted to make sure that Damien was really able to enter the place, after what Cas had said. Well, the boy looked fine to him. Beast of the Apocalypse, his Aunt Fanny. Cas was in a froth about the kid, and Gail had bought into her husband's hysteria. And, Gabe? Who the hell knew? Since when was the Trickster an expert on the Apocalypse? He'd spent most of his existence in the modern era running away from any sign of a fight. Unlike Bobby, the Winchester boys, Cas, and more recently, Gail. They'd been boots on the ground, balls-to-the-wall showing up, every time they were called on to save the human race. And, many times, when they weren't.

But the buck stopped with Bobby as the current occupant of the High Office, and until he saw any reason to think otherwise, he was on board with the notion of protecting Becky and Damien from Vincent. Now, there was a Bad News Bear, if Bobby had ever seen one.

And as far as Brian, aka Damien's, true parentage went...well, maybe that was none of Bobby's business. Becky and Sam were both here now, exchanging awkward glances. Maybe Bobby should just let them alone, and let them have that conversation.

God put his hand on Damien's shoulder. "I'll be going, now," he started to say, and as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes, the reigning God realized something: Damien had Sam's eyes. Bobby felt a surge of love for the boy. Sam's son. Bobby's grandson, in every way that was important.

"Call me if ya need anything," Bobby said to Sam gruffly, a lump forming in his throat. With that, realizing he was alarmingly close to tears, Bobby winked himself out of the bunker.

He should have just quit while he was ahead, Vincent fumed. But he'd been all puffed up, carried away with his recent successes. So he had closed his eyes again and sent out the call to Andy, intending to needle his younger brother. This was a final offer: was he going to join Vincent, or was he going to just end his pathetic existence, once and for all? Vincent had no clue that Andy had actually done the latter at Christmas, and had been brought back by none other than Death, himself. None at all.

Their link had been severed when Death had done that, and now, it was Andy who was in control. But he had been keeping his mind wide open, much as Cas or Gail might leave their frequencies open to receive messages from each other.

Andy had been hoping that Vincent might call him again, because now that Andy had his sanity back, he had a thing or two he wanted to say to his brother.

"The only reason my life is pathetic is because you ruined it," Andy said bluntly. He was back in his hospital bed now, after Cedric had taken him for a bit of a wheelchair ride down the corridor, to the solarium. The temperature was still cold outside, but Ced had given the patient his robe and slippers to put on, and parked him in the sunlight by the window at the end of the hall. Andy still had the IV in his arm, and the orderly had half-apologetically cuffed his hands together, and attached them to leg shackles. Just because the old guy seemed docile didn't mean that Cedric was going to drop his guard. Dangerously crazy people could seem lucid one minute, and then go ape on you the next, with no notice whatsoever.

Andy didn't mind. He knew that Cedric was only doing his job. He'd just been so thrilled to find out that he was going to get even a glimpse of the outside world that Cedric could have slapped a full straitjacket on him, and he wouldn't have cared. When they'd arrived at the end of the hallway, the orderly had stopped the wheelchair beside the window, putting the brake on.

"I hope you understand, but I've gotta stay here with you," Ced had said to him. It was kind of weird, how he kept feeling the need to apologize. But there was just something about the patient ever since Christmas, something that was very different than the way he'd been before. Andy seemed to have a quiet dignity, now. His speech was calm, and this was the most lucid Ced had ever seen him.

Andy had smiled gently. "I do understand," he'd told Cedric. "I just appreciate your kindness in bringing me here. I haven't seen the outside in...I don't know how long. Is there snow?" he asked excitedly.

"There sure is," Cedric confirmed. "It looks just like a Christmas card, out there. Here; let me get you closer."

Then he'd kicked off the brake, wheeling Andy as close to the window as he could possibly get. There were iron bars across the windowpane, of course, but he could still see.

Andy gasped. Cedric was right. It was beautiful! His eyes drank in the sight. The snow was pristine white, and it sparkled in the sun. He had forgotten how much something simple like that could lift your spirits.

Cedric enjoyed seeing the ecstatic look on Andy's face. This was such a dark and depressing place to work most of the time that these kinds of moments were hard to come by. But after a minute, it started to feel like he was horning in on a very private moment, so he moved away slightly, keeping the patient in his sightline.

Andy had that memory to keep him calm now, as he spoke to Vincent. "This will be our last communication," he said to his brother. "I let you in, because I thought I needed you. You had me convinced that I was so worthless as a human being that you were the best companionship I could manage. But I have family and friends, good people who care about me. You're the one who's pathetic, Vincent, and you're going to lose."

Vincent had laughed scornfully, but he had also been very, very surprised. He had always been able to intimidate his younger brother, before. But Andy was talking as if HE was in the driver's seat now, not Vincent. Andy was talking as if he wasn't crazy any more.

"I'm not," Andy said, and Vincent was startled again. "I'm not crazy, Vincent," his little brother continued. "I never was. But YOU are, and you will lose."

Vincent was livid. "How DARE you talk to me like that?" he raged. "You're just a psychotic, broken-down old man, rotting away in a mental institution! Nobody cares about you! Nobody! You'll be dead soon, and no one will give a damn."

"You first, Vincent. If there's a God in Heaven, it'll be you, first," Andy said firmly, but he was still serene. Vincent sounded like the crazy person, now.

"God?!" Vincent exclaimed, and he was nearly screaming in his own head now. "How the hell can someone like YOU talk about God? What do you know about it?"

"A lot more than you do," Andy retorted. "I choose love, and kindness. I reject you, Vincent. You and I are done."

Then he closed his mind down and sealed it shut, picturing slamming a door and pulling a bolt lock across it.

"I choose love," Andy repeated softly, looking at his robe and slippers. "I choose kindness." He closed his eyes and pictured the winter scene he'd just been able to witness, courtesy of Cedric. The orderly wasn't even assigned to the hospital wing. He'd taken Andy there on his coffee break.

Finally, Andy pictured Kay, who had sat here for a long time that day, holding Andy's manacled hand, and feeding him turkey and mashed potatoes. She had told him that she would be back to see him soon, and the next time she came, she was going to bring a book, to read aloud to him from.

Oh, yes. Andy did have people who cared about him. It was just that now, without Vincent's poison in his brain and in his heart, Andy was finally able to open himself up to receive their help, and their love.

He fell asleep, smiling.

Vincent bounced off the bed and tore out of the cabana, looking around wildly. His eyes lit on Franklin, who was standing beside Abbadon. The Demon woman was smiling up at the muscular young man, who was dressed only in a tight bathing suit now that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Vincent wondered if anything had been going on between them, or if they hadn't gotten around to it yet. Oh, well. If they hadn't gotten busy, it was their loss. He snapped his fingers at Franklin.

"Grab a couple of tourists, and bleed them dry," Vincent said coldly. "It's time to get this show on the road."

Then he looked at Abbadon. "Get dressed," he ordered her. "Vacation's over. I'm in the mood for a little housecleaning."

Damien was in the kitchen of the bunker, having a sandwich and a glass of milk. Sam put a pot of coffee on for the adults. It was just him and Dean and Becky now.

"I'll make up a couple of rooms for you and Damien," Sam told Becky. "If we can figure out what sizes he takes, I can go to the mall and get him some more clothes. George's stuff is a little big on him."

"Why don't we just get Cas and Gail to pop over there?" Dean suggested.

"No!" Becky exclaimed, and the brothers looked at her in surprise. Crap. "I just meant...why would you ask them to do that?" she added, somewhat lamely.

Dean regarded her, trying not to roll his eyes. Brian – or Damien – might be a lot older now, but good old Becky was still stupid. "Uhhh...because they're Angels," he said to her, as if he were talking to a child. "They can pop over there, and pop back. If Vincent's out there waiting to snatch your kid, we've gotta stay holed up here, until we can figure out a plan."

Becky's lips pursed. That was logical; she just didn't want Cas and Gail around. Gabriel, either. All three of them had been looking at her and Damien like they couldn't wait to stick their Angel blades in them. Vincent had assured Becky that, because of who Damien was, they wouldn't be able to kill him with an ordinary blade. But they could kill HER, couldn't they?

It occurred to Becky now how royally screwed she really was. She would have no choice but to let them call on the Angels. If she left the bunker now, there was no way she was ever going to get back in. Where could she go, then? What would she do? She was a monster now. They would all hate her if they knew what she had done. Most of them hated her, already. Things hadn't been much better in the Caribbean, either. Everybody there had been nice enough to her, but that was only because Vincent said so, and because she was Damien's mother. Vincent didn't give a crap about Becky; he'd just wanted to keep Damien happy.

So far, her son was the only person who seemed to care whether Becky lived or died. But that could change, couldn't it? Vincent had taught Damien to look at people only in terms of how useful they were to him. Now that her son wasn't a baby any more, he didn't really need Becky for anything, did he? Now that he was eating normal food, anybody could feed him. There were no more poopy diapers to change. And now, whenever Damien was unhappy about something, all he had to do was open up his mouth and talk. Becky had thought that aging him was the smartest thing to do, but as it turned out, it had been the dumbest. No wonder Dean was looking at her like she was an idiot. She WAS one.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Becky blurted out. She rushed out of the kitchen, as the men stared after her.

"They hate me, you know," Damien piped up in a conversational tone.

The brothers turned around to look at him. "Who hates you?" Dean asked the boy.

"Uncle Cas and Aunt Gail," he said, taking another sip of his milk. "Uncle Gabe, too. They all hate me. They want me dead."

"No, they don't," Sam assured him. He and Dean exchanged a glance. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true," Damien said matter-of-factly. "Just ask them. You'll see." He put the empty glass down. "Can I watch some TV, Daddy?"

Sam was frowning. "Sure, Buddy. Come on." Damien hopped off his chair, and Sam gave Dean another look. "I'm on it," Dean said, taking out his cell phone. He hit Cas's number on the Speed Dial.


	2. Us And Them

Chapter 2 – Us And Them

The Angels had popped out of Cas and Gail's house to Mercy Hospital to pick up Josiah, after Gabriel had told the couple where Damien was now.

Cas had been angry. "Why didn't you keep them here?" he'd asked the Archangel, and Gabriel's eyes had flashed for an instant.

"Look here, buddy-boy," Gabe had said through clenched teeth. "I don't mind playing backup in your band from time to time, but don't you ever make the mistake of talking to me like your little errand boy again. Clear?"

There was a moment of thick tension between the two men as they faced each other. Gail was considering a quip to break it, but Gabriel sighed before she had the chance to think of anything.

"Sorry, Cas," Gabe said. "I'm pissed off, but not at you. I just can't believe they waltzed right out of here like that. And Bobby went with them! He didn't say so out loud, but I know he thinks we're crazy. Or liars."

Now Cas was tight-lipped as well. He and Bobby had had their ups and downs over the years, ever since one or the other of them had been in charge of Heaven. Cas respected his friend, and he respected Heaven's hierarchy, for the most part. But Bobby was a sensible man, a Hunter with many years of experience battling monsters and evil entities. Even if he didn't have all of the powers of the Office, Bobby should recognize the kind of evil Damien represented. It was curious, really. The only explanation that might make sense was that Bobby had allowed his affection for Sam to cloud his judgement. Sam seemed to believe Becky's continued assertions that Damien was his son, not Vincent's, Gabriel told the Angels when they had returned from the mental hospital. Bobby had been there too, and from what Gabe had seen, the kid had completely bamboozled Bobby, as well as Sam.

That was unfortunate, Castiel had said. But they had a job to do now, and it was their duty to do it.

They had inquired at the Information Desk, and the hospital's receptionist directed them to the 5th Floor, which was the General Care Wing. The Angels exchanged glances. General Care? That didn't sound like a place for a badly injured person. But they went upstairs and checked with the nurses' station there. Gabriel had been inclined to suggest they should just pop into the kid's room, grab him and the blade, and get him over to the bunker, before the Beast had the chance to do whatever he was gonna do over there. But he knew that Cas liked to work within the framework of human convention, whenever possible. Besides, they had no idea what this "Joe" was like, or how on board he was with this Beast-killing thing.

Gabriel could feel that his blade was near, as the nurse directed them to Josiah's room. The signal was very weak, but it was distinct. The Archangel's pulse quickened as they thanked the woman and started the slow walk to the Chosen One's room. After all these years, Gabriel and his blade were going to be reunited. How did he feel about that? Scared? Exhilarated? Both?

Joe looked up from the magazine he'd been reading, and his heart stopped for a second. Here they were: Gabriel, Castiel, and Gail. A part of him had seriously been wondering if any of this was real. In the weeks he'd been laid up here since the accident, the young man had had a lot of time to think. Too much time, actually.

When he'd walked across the street to board that bus in Kansas City, Josiah had felt so confident. So sure of himself, and his mission. But then, he'd been wiped out. Completely blindsided. When he'd woken up here in excruciating pain, the doctors and nurses had told Joe that he was lucky to be alive. But, was he?

In the days and weeks of recovery that had followed, Joe had had all kinds of thoughts. He knew that the accident had been mainly his own fault, because he hadn't looked both ways when he'd been crossing the road. His Mom had taught him to do that, from a very young age. Maybe the driver of the vehicle that had pretty much flattened him had had time to stop, or maybe they hadn't. But then, the longer he'd had to think about it, the more convinced Joe became that it hadn't been an accident at all; that the Beast's evil force had sent that vehicle to take Josiah out. He'd been frightened by that thought, and so he'd refused his medication and stayed alert for a few days after that. But there had been no attempts on his life and he was still in considerable pain, so at a certain point, Joe had capitulated. Given up. He had been laying here all on his own, with no clue what he was supposed to do, now. Was he supposed to wait for some kind of a sign?

Then he'd had the dream. His mother, Rosalie, had come to his hospital room, telling him that three Angels were going to come to him soon, and take him to where the Beast was. Did he have the knife? No, he'd told her, but it was stashed safely away. Good, she had said, because the Angels would be here right after Christmas to take Joe on his mission. He'd better get himself ready.

Joe had avoided his mother's gaze. Even though this was a dream, or a religious vision, or whatever, he still felt sorrow, and regret. "I'm sorry I ran out on you, Mom. I don't want you to feel bad. But, this is the reason I was born. I'm the Chosen One. I have to eliminate the Beast of the Apocalypse, before it's too late."

Rosalie had smiled sadly. "I know, Josiah. I've always known you were special. God spared my life so that I could give birth to you, and this is why. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you," Joe had said. Then she had vanished, and even though he knew she hadn't really been there, it had been good to have the opportunity to say that to her, anyway.

The next morning, Joe had woken up, wondering how he was supposed to recover the blade. He'd hidden it in Kansas City, knowing there was no way he could try to take it with him on the bus. They were extremely sensitive about that kind of stuff on any kind of public transportation these days, and he hadn't wanted to take the chance on being arrested. But now, how was he supposed to -

Wait. Joe had been rearranging the blankets on the bed so that he could sit up, and then he felt it: the blade was next to him, under the covers. Well, how about that? After weeks of discouragement and despair, now Joe was finally receiving the sign he'd asked for.

The Angels were looking at him solemnly. Joe put down the magazine he'd been reading, hopping off the bed. He was almost fully recovered now, but the Chosen One had been malingering. There were a couple of reasons for that. The main reason was, the closer the calendar had gotten to Christmas, the more nerve-wracking the scenario became. There was an epic showdown coming, one that Joe was duty-bound to take part in, but woefully unprepared for. Hopefully, the Angels who were coming to fetch him would be able to help prepare him. And the other reason he was still here at the hospital was simple: Joe had nowhere else to go. As it was, he had no idea how he was supposed to be able to pay for all the care he'd received. If he had more than five dollars and change left over from his birthday money, he'd be really surprised.

But, first things first. The Angels were here now, and they introduced themselves to the young man.

"So, you're the guy who's got my blade," Gabriel said, and Cas looked at his Brother curiously. There was a tone to the Archangel's voice that Castiel couldn't quite identify.

"I found it on the shore of the Mississippi," Joe told him. He could see Gabriel's eyes move toward the pillows on the bed. Joe had put the knife there, right underneath his head. If anybody'd wanted to try to take it from him, they would have to have killed him, first.

"Can I see it?" Gabriel said, and now Gail could hear that strange tone, too. She and Cas exchanged glances.

Joe was completely intimidated now. This guy was Gabriel. The Archangel. The one from all those Biblical stories. The other two, he'd never heard of. They were probably his assistants, or something. It was kind of interesting to see a woman here, though. Joe had read the Bible cover to cover, and he couldn't think of anything in there that mentioned anything about Angels in jeans, or short little lady Angels with big eyes.

Josiah hurried over to the bed and slid his hand under the pillows to retrieve the knife, as Gabriel waved his hand toward the door of the room. It whooshed shut, and there was a clicking noise.

Cas frowned, but he said nothing. Modern hospitals didn't put locks on the doors of patients' rooms, so Gabriel had obviously improvised. But they would need some privacy right now, especially if they were going to be inspecting an Archangel blade.

Gabriel's eyes flashed when Joe brought the blade over to where the Angels stood. Joe was so disconcerted, he nearly dropped it.

"Place it in my hand," Gabriel said to the young man. Joe extended the blade timidly, putting it on the Archangel's outstretched palm. The blade edge glinted, and the hilt glowed a radiant purple.

Gail's mouth dropped open. Gabe's Archangel blade was beautiful! Even after the momentary glow faded, she could see that there were a number of gemstones where the hilt met the blade, and the knife was gold in colour, as opposed to hers and Cas's, which were silver.

"Those who lack faith will be destroyed," Gabriel said in a calm monotone. "Those who obstruct the path shall be burned."

Gail's eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked at Cas. Conversely, his eyes narrowed. It disturbed him to hear Gabriel talk that way, but it didn't necessarily surprise him. Even after all this time, Gail was a novice when it came to the mystique of Angel blades. She was proficient at using hers now, but to Gail, her blade was more or less an accessory, like a scarf, or a purse. Sometimes, when they left the house, she didn't even carry hers with her. Castiel's blade was an extension of himself. No matter where he was or where they were going, he always had it in his jacket, or his pants pocket on those rare occasions when he wasn't wearing the second layer. Even when they'd been on the beach in the Caribbean, his Angel blade had been within easy reach.

Archangels were generally the same way, Cas knew. There was a kind of symbiosis a warrior had with his blade that was hard to describe to others. A part of Cas was glad that Gail didn't have that sort of outlook. And, yes, he was a little surprised that Gabriel had snapped to like this the instant the blade was placed in his hand, especially given Gabriel's professed aversion to violence. But when all was said and done, an Archangel of the Lord was still an Archangel of the Lord.

Gail didn't like it, though; not one bit. Gabe was sounding like Raguel now, or how Cas had sounded when Patricia had dosed him with the poison which had caused his manic obsession with the Holy War. She stepped forward. "Wow, that blade is gorgeous," she said lightly. "It looks like one of the crown jewels, or something."

Gabriel turned his head to look at her, and she was startled to see that his eyes were a bright shade of purple. "Crown jewels?" he repeated.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Look at all those jewels on it. Next time we go out, you're picking up the cheque."

That was enough to do it. Gabriel laughed, and when he did, the purple glow faded. He regarded the knife once more and then flipped it in his hand, giving it back to Josiah hilt-first.

"Well, it's yours for now, O Chosen One," Gabriel said casually. "Once you dispatch the Beast, I'll take it back. Apparently, the ladies think it's 'gorgeous'." He winked at Gail, and she let out a relieved breath.

"We will take you to where the Beast is - " Cas started to say, but his cell phone rang at that moment. He reached into his pocket, checking the display. Dean. "I'll be right back," Cas said, winking himself out of the room.

Joe's heart sank. A teeny-tiny part of him had clung onto the faint hope that this was all just his imagination, but that little sliver vanished, once Cas did.

"I'll pack my bag," Joe said, and it suddenly occurred to Gail to ask: "What about the bill?"

Joe froze. He looked sheepish. "I don't know. I don't have anything even close to that kind of money."

"Bill," Gabe echoed scornfully, rolling his eyes. He waved his hand again. "There. It's paid. Now, let's get your husband on board, and let's skedaddle."

Joe was shoving his clothes into his duffel bag, but he paused again now. "Your husband?" he said incredulously.

"I know, right?" Gabriel said, smirking. "He's lucky he saw her first."

Now, it was Gail who rolled her eyes, but she was happy he seemed like his old self again. He had really freaked her out there, for a minute. "Yeah? And what would have happened if you'd seen me first?" she demanded.

"Introduced you to my Brother, of course," Gabriel said smoothly, and the Angels laughed together.

Joe was confused. One minute they were talking about the Beast, and people being burned, and the next, they were joking and laughing. He had to say, he kind of preferred them like this, though. The way that Gabriel had looked when he'd been holding his blade had been really scary.

Cas was down the hall, talking to Dean on the phone.

"The kid's scared of you guys," Cas's friend was telling him now. "So when you come over, try to be a little less like...you. Okay, Buddy?"

Cas might have smiled, if he didn't feel so sick to his stomach. It was obvious to him that Damien had used his powers to influence the Winchesters. When he and Gail had left the house to visit Andy, Dean had believed completely that Damien was Vincent's son. Now here he was, calling the child his nephew, and worrying about Its feelings. How was Cas supposed to tell him that at this very moment, they were arranging to bring to the bunker the one person who the prophecies decreed would be the one to kill the boy?

There was only one answer to that question, as repugnant as it may be: he couldn't. Cas couldn't run the risk of alerting the Beast about their imminent arrival. So he merely told Dean that they would be there as soon as they could get there, to brainstorm about how they were going to deal with Vincent. Then he had hung up.

If Vincent had been livid before, when he had realized that Andy was no longer under his thumb, he was frenzied now. The instant Gabriel had touched the blade, Vincent knew: they had the Chosen One. They had the Chosen One!

His mind raced. What the hell kind of b.s. was this? What was Castiel trying to pull? The primary reason that Vincent had never believed that there WAS a Chosen One was because he didn't think Castiel would have taken this long to produce him, if there was. Why would he have waited so long? He'd heard that his son-in-law played poker with ice in his veins, but this was ridiculous.

OK. Okay, then. Poker. Right. This was a game they were playing, that was all, and now it was Vincent's turn to make a move. He guessed it was his own fault, really. Vincent was the one who had put the short game in motion by aging Damien to nine years old, instead of ten. That had been a conscious decision on his part, just as it had been to send his son into the God Squad's territory. How much more it was going to hurt them after falling in love with the kid, and then discovering who and what he was. And it was bound to drive a wedge between the Winchesters and the Angels, as an added bonus.

But now, all that had to change. If the Chosen One was heading over to that stupid bunker of theirs, Vincent had to rescue his kid, before this all went south in a hurry.

He tried communicating with Damien telepathically, but of course, it was no use. How the hell was he supposed to get his son out of there? The story he'd sent Becky in with was that they had to keep Damien under lock and key, because Vincent was looking to grab him. That had been designed to give the boy enough time and proximity to the Winchesters to endear the men to him. Vincent knew that Sam and Dean Winchester viewed the safety and protection of family members above all else, so it would be a slam-dunk, as the expression went. They would never let anything happen to Damien.

But: two Angels, one Archangel, his blade, and the Chosen One? Suddenly, Vincent's full house looked pretty weak in comparison to Castiel's four of a kind. Which meant that it was time for Vincent to introduce the wild card.

"Bring that spell you were telling me about," he ordered Abbadon. "I need to escalate the game."

A minute later, they were standing in the back outside the bunker, as close as they could get to it. Vincent knew that there was still time; he couldn't smell the stench of Angels, yet. But they had minutes, only; maybe even seconds.

"DO IT!" he shouted at Abbadon. She glared at him momentarily, but waved her arms in the direction of the bunker, reciting the incantation. There were Winchesters in there. She'd waited too many years to get her revenge on the two of them, and doing that here at the Men of Letters' headquarters was especially satisfying.

Once she'd finished the incantation for the spell, Abbadon tossed two hex bags down on the ground. Vincent watched with amusement as vines grew out of them and snaked their way towards the bunker. Soon they reached the walls of the place, and started to move upwards. Green leaves sprouted from the vines and intertwined with each other, rapidly covering the outer walls.

"You should go into agriculture," Vincent wisecracked, "but then again, I guess you're more suited for horticulture." He giggled. "See what I did, there?"

Abbadon said nothing, but her fingernails curled into her palms. This guy was grating on her last nerve. But she'd decided to stick with him for now. Her association with him had already paid off, in the form of facilitating this glorious moment. The poison ivy spell she had just cast on the bunker was going to kill Sam and Dean Winchester and any other humans who happened to be in the bunker at the moment, and it was going to do so slowly and definitively. But it wasn't going to harm a hair on the little Voodoo Prince's head.

Sam was sitting in the library area, having a cup of coffee. Things were quiet, at the moment. After telling him that Cas had said the Angels would get there when they got there, Dean had yawned and said that he was gonna go to his room and Skype Nicole. Maybe have a nap, after. Becky and Damien were in one of the spare rooms, apparently watching TV.

The younger Winchester relished the peace and quiet now, because he needed time to think. None of this was adding up. None of it. Why would Vincent be going after Sam's son? What was Sam to him? Granted, the guy was an evil bastard, but still... Following that thread of logic, why would Vincent have even done the aging spell on Damien in the first place? Sam knew Cas and Gail very well, and he could tell that they were keeping something from him. Gail had tried to tell Sam back at the house that Damien was Vincent's son, but Sam knew that wasn't the case. Sam knew for sure that HE was the boy's father. Every time Sam touched Damien, he felt that warm paternal love that everybody always talked about. He saw his own eyes when he looked into Damien's, and the boy's profile looked like Dean, when Sam's brother had been a young teenager. Despite the circumstances surrounding Damien's birth, or the bizarre situation they found themselves in now, Sam knew that he would protect the boy down to his last breath, and he was glad that Dean had vowed to do the same. For a long time, Sam's son had been a huge bone of contention between him and Dean. But the chips were down now, and Sam's older brother was showing up, big time. Just like he always did.

But as soon as Cas and Gail got here, they were all going to have to have an open and honest discussion about what the hell was actually going on. And Becky would have to be included too, because whether Gail liked it or not, she was Damien's mother. Sam knew that Gail disapproved of the whole Becky thing, and he understood where his friend was coming from. He really did. But the bottom line was that Vincent was Gail's father, wasn't he? Not that Sam was saying she was responsible for the crazy bastard, of course. But still, she and Cas and Gabe, if they brought him, must have an Angelic trick or two up their sleeves to take care of the guy. At the very least, they could all brainstorm. There had to be something they could do to remove the threat, or to mitigate it.

As Sam was sitting there quietly, the ivy was winding itself up the bunker walls. Spores appeared now, springing up from between the greenery. The bunker was inaccessible to evil entities, but the ivy was a plant, and it was pliable. One of the tendrils found a ventilation grate far up on the wall, and the ivy crept into the bunker that way. The slits in the grate were small, but so were the spores, and they were cushioned by the leaves. Once through the narrow openings, though, the spores were free to open up and release the airborne poison into the bunker.

Rowena had taught Abbadon well. The Demon now knew every spell in the redheaded witch's book, save for the revival spell. Rowena had promised to herself that she would never divulge that spell to anyone. No one should have that kind of power; not even Rowena, herself. Years ago, she'd made the mistake of using that spell to bring her son, the King of Hell, back to life. And she'd regretted it ever since.

One of the spells Abbadon had learned was the Aging spell, the same one Vincent had used to accelerate Damien's growth. When she and Vincent had been talking about a way to flush them out of the bunker, she had suggested this method. She could hex every occupant of the bunker to age, exponentially. Though not nearly as rapid as Damien's growth had been due to the plant's indirect method of delivery, the poison would do its job, the brunette witch had assured Vincent.

He'd been angry. Damien was in the bunker too, and Vincent wasn't ready to unleash his version of the Apocalypse, yet. It didn't matter to him whether the Winchesters and Becky and whoever else happened to be there were turned into old coots, but he didn't want Damien to age a day. Children, especially cute ones, could open so many doors, couldn't they? Also, Vincent was being stubborn about this. He'd set it up so well; so carefully. The kid was supposed to pit the Winchesters against the Angels. That was the way that Vincent expected it to be, and that was the way it was going to be.

But Abbadon had looked at the Voodoo Priest indulgently. He might know how to prance around a fire shaking a bunch of bones, but he obviously had no idea how complex, ancient magic worked.

"The stuff won't do a damn thing to your precious offspring," Abbadon had said, rolling her eyes. "Trust me."

"Trust you?" Vincent said scornfully. "So I'm just supposed to take the word of a Demon whore, who wasn't even good enough for a lowlife like the King of Hell?"

Abbadon had had enough. Her eyes went pitch-black, and she'd pushed Vincent up against the cabana wall so hard that the structure shook. She grabbed him by the throat, pointing one of her long, blood-red fingernails at his eye. "Call me that again; I dare you," she said through gritted teeth.

Vincent was actually smiling. "You can't kill me," he told her.

"I know, but I can scoop out this juicy eyeball of yours and dip it into the next martini Franklin makes me," Abbadon said, matching his smile.

Vincent's smile grew. "I wish we had more time, 'cause I'm really turned on, right now."

"For your information, it was Crowley who wasn't good enough for ME. Apologize," Abbadon said in a clipped tone, her smile fading.

There was a moment's silence between the two, and then Vincent blinked first: "Actually, I CAN believe that," he said softly. "You're one of the sexiest women I've ever had the pleasure to be with. I apologize."

She considered his apology for a moment, and then apparently, deeming it to be genuine, she let go of him. Then Abbadon's eyes narrowed. "What men like you don't seem to realize is that women like me don't give you anything we don't want to give. And before you say it, I don't have penis envy; why would I want my IQ to drop that much?"

Vincent laughed. His son was a complete idiot to have let this one go. He didn't share that little gem with her, though. Abbadon had no idea that Vincent was, technically speaking, Crowley's father. There was no reason for her to know about any of that stuff. It was irrelevant in this situation, anyway. Crowley had forfeited his chance to be partners with Vincent, a long time ago. "Let's go, my dear," he'd said, and the two of them had left the Caribbean to rescue Damien.

Sam was cocking his head to the side now, wondering what he was hearing. It was coming from the direction of the stairs...no, wait. It was coming from the wall. What the hell?

He stood from his chair and walked over there to investigate. What he saw made his blood run cold: plant tendrils slithering down the walls, with sinister-looking white pods on the vines.

"Hey, Sammy, what's that noise?" Dean said grumpily, coming out from the hallway. He'd tried to have a nap, but his brain wouldn't stop long enough to let him.

Suddenly, there was a loud, booming noise coming from the metal door at the top of the stairs. Both brothers looked up reflexively, with apprehensive expressions on their faces.

"You have something of mine." A deep voice, coming from that direction. "I want it back."

Damien came running into the room. "Daddy, I'm scared!" he exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. It's OK," Sam replied automatically, but Dean threw his brother a look. He realized Sammy was pretty new to this whole "Dad" thing, but the kid was nine, not stupid. "Stand back," Dean said, moving in front of the boy and gesturing with his hand. He reached under the table closest to the stairs and grabbed the gun that was always stashed there. Then he looked up at the door, waiting to see what was going to happen next.

"Where's your mother?" Sam said, putting his hand on Damien's shoulder to calm his son. The boy's thin frame was trembling with fear. Sam wanted Becky to take Damien away from here, so that he and Dean could take care of business. He had no idea what that sinister-looking ivy was all about, and the fact that Vincent was obviously here, and right outside, made him very nervous.

Damien considered his response. He'd heard what his real father had said just now, and the boy was confused. If this was one of Vincent's little jokes, Damien wasn't getting it. His Dad had sent him here to ingratiate himself with the Winchesters, and even though Damien felt that it was beneath him, he was still willing to do it. The Angels were looking to kill him, and even though the boy had powers of his own, they were still mainly untested. Damien's life had just begun; there was no way he was going to let those sanctimonious bastards spoil all the fun. He might only be nine years old, chronologically speaking, but Vincent's son had seen everything that was going to be made available to him in the Caribbean in just a few short years, and he knew that he wanted in. So if kissing a little Winchester behind was what he needed to do to stay alive for the moment, Damien was willing to pucker up.

But his Mom had proven to be a big liability. All she'd done since they'd gotten here to the bunker was get in the way. No one liked her, and all she could seem to do was mope around. Plus, she looked at him weird. It had been getting on Damien's nerves.

"She's in the bathroom," Damien said in answer to Sam's question. "She's been in there for a while."

Sam looked at the wall, where the ivy was still forming. The growth had slowed somewhat, but those ominous-looking spores really concerned him. Was it his imagination, or could he see a thin, misty spray issuing from them?

Sam frowned. "I'll be right back," he said to Dean. "I want to..."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, nodding. "Take him."

As the younger Winchester scooped Damien up into his arms and rushed him down the hallway, Dean dug into his pocket for his cell phone. He hit the Speed Dial button for Cas's number with one of the fingers on his gun hand. Then he regarded the gun, looked at the ivy, then looked at the gun again. Nope. No. Bad idea. He put the gun down on the table and reached underneath it again for the Demon knife they kept there. Dean Winchester was never in the Boy Scouts, but he sure as hell knew how to Be Prepared. But as he gripped the knife in his free hand, it occurred to Dean for a split second to think that they were gonna have to give Damien a crash course in weapons safety, once this was all over.

But that was a conversation for another day and time. Right now they had to get through this stupid situation first, and just where the hell WAS Cas, anyway?

Cas was in Josiah's hospital room with Joe and Gail, waiting impatiently for Gabriel to return from Heaven. Gabe had said that he wanted to get a weapon from the annex to the storeroom, until he could get his own blade back.

Cas had felt like arguing with his Brother: Josiah would wield the blade, Castiel and Gail would be there to back him up, and Gabriel had formidable powers, with or without a weapon. Damien might be the Beast, but he was still just a child. Castiel didn't believe for one moment that the four of them would be incapable of handling the boy.

But he'd stopped short when he had seen the look on the Archangel's face. There was something in Gabriel's eyes which had dissuaded Cas from pressing the issue. Ever since Gabriel had gotten in the vicinity of his blade, Castiel had noticed a change in his Brother. There was a hard edge to Gabriel right now that Castiel hadn't seen since the Wars. Maybe that was a good thing, in a way. They had no idea exactly what they were facing in Damien.

Cas's cell phone rang. "Cas, where the hell ARE you guys?" Dean demanded. "We've got a situation, here."

"What do you mean?" the Angel asked his friend sharply.

Dean was getting really aggravated, now. He was chopping away at the vines with the Demon blade, but the damn things wouldn't budge. He checked the knife. It was honed to a fine edge. He started chopping away again, hacking at the plant like those guys trying to chop their way through the jungle, in the movies. But this was ridiculous, because what he was doing wasn't making a damn bit of difference.

"Cas, get your ass over here!" Dean exclaimed, exasperated. "Vincent's after Sam's kid, and we've got some kind of weird-ass, toxic Tarzan stuff growing in the bunker!"

Cas was flabbergasted. "You have a WHAT growing in your bunker?"

Gail moved quickly to her husband's side. "What is it, Cas?" she said apprehensively.

"Dean," Sam called out from down the corridor. "DEAN!"

"Little busy here, Sammy!" Dean yelled. His teeth were clenched in frustration. His knife wasn't even making a nick in the stupid thing, and Cas had picked one helluva time not to get a pop culture reference. "Ask Gail!" he shouted into the phone.

"I'm not going to wait forever!" Vincent's voice issued from the direction of the metal door, sounding much closer than it should have.

"Dean!" Sam called down the hall in a louder voice. "Come here! Now!"

"Ask Gail what?" Cas said into the elder Winchester's ear.

That was it. Dean was done. "Just get your Angel ass over here, NOW!" he shouted into the receiver, hanging up on Cas and tossing the phone on the table. Then he pointed the Demon blade menacingly at the ivy. "I'll deal with you in a minute," Dean said aloud to it. He looked up at the bunker door, brandishing the knife again. "You too, Voldermort!" he added. It was unclear whether his mispronunciation was deliberate. He looked at the ivy once more. "Don't tell Sam I said that," he said to it.

"Dean, I need you to get your ass down here!" Sam yelled.

The elder Winchester did a double-take. Geez, what had gotten into his little brother, all of a sudden? Who TALKED to people like that?

"Keep your shorts on! I'm coming!" Dean shouted back, starting for the hallway. "Geez, you'd think Cas would get a clue," he muttered aloud. He smirked. Hopefully, Gail was educating him, on the way here. "He was Tarzan for Hallowe'en, for - "

Then Dean saw the blood on Sam's and Damien's hands, and suddenly, nothing was very funny any more.

Gabriel winked himself back into Josiah's room.

"It's about time," Cas said impatiently. "We've got to get to the bunker, right now! Vincent is there. He can't get in, of course, but it sounds like he's trying to flush them out, by using some sort of plant-based poison." He actually HAD understood Dean's reference; it had simply been a shock to hear. Cas had never thought about the bunker being vulnerable to something like that; none of them had.

"Where's your weapon?" Gail asked Gabriel, and he shrugged. "I didn't get one," Gabe told her. "I decided that Cas was right. We should have more than enough juice to get the job done. Make sure you keep Sam and Dean out of the way, though. We don't want them getting hurt by friendly fire."

Gail glanced at Cas, her forehead wrinkling. What the hell? Gabriel had made them wait here for him while he was supposedly getting a Heavenly weapon, and he didn't even get a weapon?

But Cas was moving decisively towards Joe now, and his blade was already drawn. Gail got hers out, too.

"Here, give me that," Gabriel said to the young man. He took Joe's travel bag out of his hand. "Get that blade out of your pants, and have it ready. We don't know exactly what we're walking into. Let's go."

"You may feel a little vertigo when I do this," Cas told Joe. "You'll regain your equilibrium quickly, once we get there."

Without any further ado, the four of them disappeared.

Dean stood in the open doorway of the washroom, looking down at Becky's body. "What the hell happened?" he asked his brother.

"I don't know," Sam replied quietly. He was still stunned. "I brought Damien to Becky's room, but she wasn't there. I noticed the bathroom door was closed, so I knocked, but she didn't answer. Damien said she'd been in there for quite a while, so I thought I'd better...make sure she was all right. So I opened the door, and found her laying there."

Dean pushed past his brother, crouching beside Becky. "Did you check her vitals?"

Sam's frown deepened. "Of course I did, Dean." What did his brother take him for? But that momentary flash of annoyance gave way to heartbreak as Sam looked down at his son. Damien was clinging to Sam's leg, wide-eyed. The boy was getting blood all over Sam's jeans, but the younger Winchester scarcely noticed. All he saw was the look of terror in his son's eyes. When he had opened the door and saw Becky laying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, Sam had frozen in shock for a moment. But Damien had rushed forward and dropped to the floor beside his mother, touching her. That was how the child's hands had gotten so bloody. Sam doubted that Damien would know enough to be checking his mother for a pulse or a heartbeat, as Dean was doing now. Sam's son appeared to be very bright, but he had technically been an infant up until just recently. No, the child had just been reacting to the shock of seeing his mother like that. Probably seeking comfort. And that was what had broken Sam's paralysis. He had gone to his knees and checked Becky for signs of life, shouting for Dean at the same time.

Sam had been so frantic, and so worried about Damien, that he hadn't had a chance to look around the room, much. As an experienced Hunter, he had made note of the Angel blade that was laying on the floor beside Becky's hand. But he had not noticed the bloody lettering beside her other hand.

Joe stumbled when his group appeared in the field behind the bunker, and Cas caught the Chosen One by the elbow to steady him. Cas had wanted to come out here first, to see what they were dealing with. He had expected to see Vincent, of course, because Dean had told him that Gail's father was here. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the Demon woman who was standing next to Vincent.

"Hello, Castiel," Abbadon said with a wide smile. "Did you miss me?"

Damien watched as Dean checked Becky for signs of life. He knew it was no use, of course. Damien had done a number on her with the Angel blade, and then he had put the blade in her hand, to make it look like suicide. It would be a shame to give up that Angel blade, but he wouldn't really need it any more, anyway. The Angels were going to be busy contending with his Dad and Abbadon and, if they got past them, there were still his "Uncles" here, who were now firmly on Team Damien.

"Hey, there's some writing, there," Dean remarked, pointing to the floor. "Did you see that?"

Damien's stomach clenched. What the hell? What had that bitch done?

"Abbadon," Cas breathed, still in shock at the sight of her.

"You remember. How sweet," she said in a silky-smooth voice. Then she looked at Gail. "Don't tell me this is your wife. What a cute little thing she is. You and I will have to have a little girl talk later, honey. You'll have to tell me how you landed Heaven's sexiest Angel."

"Hey! Standing right here!" Gabriel objected sarcastically. He knew OF Abbadon, of course, but he'd been absent when that whole Battle Royale had taken place between her and Crowley. Gabe had thought that Abbadon was dead, and based on the stricken look on his face, so had Cas. Not that that meant anything much to them. In Gabe's experience, only the good ones ever actually died. The scum simply rose to the top of the pond. Just because this particular abomination came in such a gorgeous package, that didn't mean It wasn't still an abomination.

"Why are you here?" Cas demanded, staring at Abbadon.

"She's a very important member of my team," Vincent stated calmly. He wasn't particularly surprised that the two of them seemed to know each other. A little heads-up might have been helpful, though, he thought with a flash of annoyance. Oh, well. No harm done, he supposed. This might actually spice things up a bit.

"Your team?" Cas echoed angrily.

"Wait a minute," Gabriel said, his eyes narrowing. He moved closer to where Abbadon stood, and his head tilted upwards, as if he was sniffing the air. "You're only half-Demon," he said to her. "You're also half-Angel! You're the Angel of the Abyss!"

"What? That's impossible," Cas said, but his expression was uncertain. Archangels could sense things that ordinary Angels, even high-ranking ones, could not. And it had been foretold that the First Beast and the Second would join with the Angel of the Abyss and the False Prophet to bring about the Apocalyptic event. But how had Castiel not been able to see what she really was, before? Had it been because his perception had been clouded by his concern and affection for Dean and Sam? Most especially Dean, who'd had the Mark of Cain on him at the time. Cas had been more concerned about that situation than he had been about Abbadon's lineage. But, now that he thought about it, that would explain a lot. It would explain both Castiel's and Crowley's strong feelings of animosity towards her. A half-Angel, half-Demon was practically unheard-of. Nephilims, which were half-Angel, half-human, were bad enough. They were creations that should never have been made. In the past, Cas had considered them to be purely abominations, but now, his stance had softened a bit. Now, he considered them to be more like...mistakes. But the offspring of a male Angel and a human woman who had been possessed by a Demon? THAT was a true abomination. To not only possess a human, generally without her consent, but also to subject her to being with child while in that corrupted state, was nearly beyond Cas's comprehension. He took a split second to wonder who the parents had been. But, they were wasting time now.

"Take Joe inside the bunker, and keep Sam and Dean safe," Cas said softly to Gail. "Gabriel and I will deal with these two."

"Not so fast," Vincent said calmly. "It's up to you, of course, but if you send them inside the bunker, you'll be sending them to their deaths." He pointed to the ivy that was covering the bunker walls. "See that? My lovely colleague here infused it with the same Aging spell I used on Damien, but she ramped it up, a little. The longer it's inhaled, the more accelerated the aging will be. If your friends don't come out of there soon, they'll start to bear a striking resemblance to Cathy Scanlon, after she skipped her little health shake. You remember that, don't you, Gail?"

Dammit! she thought. That rotten bastard! She had no doubt that he was telling them the truth. Other people might be bluffing, but in Gail's experience, Vincent was not one of those people. Pretty much everything he had threatened to do in the past, he had done. She wondered about this Abbadon woman, too. Gail didn't like the way she was looking at Cas, or at Gabriel, either. Not that Gail was worried about anything happening there from Cas's viewpoint, of course. Actually, both of the Angel men were looking at Abbadon like she was some kind of a poisonous spider, or something. In a way, she probably WAS one, Gail thought contemptuously. Even though she'd never met the Demon before, Gail was sure she knew what type of woman she was. The poisonous spider analogy would be very apt. Just like a Black Widow spider, Abbadon would probably metaphorically eat any guy who had the misfortune to get caught up in her web. If that wasn't too laboured of a metaphor.

But was Gail really going to stand here at what was shaping up to be a clash of the titans and fret because this Demon woman was looking at Cas as if it was dinnertime, and he was the main course? Wasn't that pretty juvenile? They had far bigger issues to worry about, at the moment. If what Vincent was saying about the ivy was true, they'd better get Sam and Dean out of there. Becky too, she supposed, Gail thought with dark humour. Would the stuff work on Damien, too? Gail's blood ran cold. It was her understanding that once the boy reached ten years of age, it would be too late to kill him, Chosen One or no Chosen One.

The Winchesters were the priority here, Gail decided. We have to let them know what that ivy could be doing to them. Yes, Vincent had obviously had Abbadon grow that ivy on the bunker walls to flush them out of there, but what was the alternative? To leave them in there, breathing the toxin?

"What does it say?" Sam asked his brother. He could have stretched to look at it himself, but he was trying to shield Damien as best he could from having to look at his mother lying there dead, in a still-spreading pool of blood. What a terrible thing for a child to have to experience. They would have to treat little Damien with extra care, after this was all over.

"It says: 'I killed Quinn'," Dean said grimly, looking up at his brother's face.

Damien let out a huge sigh of relief. For a minute there, he'd thought she had used up her last few seconds of life to sell him out. Let these guys know that it was her own son who had ended her pathetic life. Hell, somebody'd had to do it. Damien's mother should be thanking him, wherever she happened to end up. All that would have been ahead for Becky was misery. Her son had dispatched her as quickly and efficiently as he could. His mother hadn't even lifted a finger to defend herself when he'd come at her with the blade, nor had she said one word to him. She had just looked at him with sadness and resignation in her eyes. Not one trace of surprise, though. Damien guessed that when you'd lived in somebody's body for a while and spent as much time together as he and his Mom had before his real Dad had come along and emancipated Damien, there weren't too many surprises left. To say nothing of the fact that the two of them had shared their little cannibalistic secrets. That kind of thing tended to bond people to each other, because it was such a societal taboo. Becky had been a fairly rotten person towards the end of her life, but Damien knew that what she'd had to make herself do to keep him appeased had been weighing on her conscience.

Her son felt no such impediment. In fact, he was really looking forward to being reunited with his father soon, so that he could delve a little more deeply into some more societal taboos. He wondered why Vincent had shown up here so soon, though. The initial plan had been for Damien to ingratiate himself, discover the secrets of the bunker, and pit the humans against the Angels over that whole "Beast of the Apocalypse" thing. His Dad was going to concentrate on finding the False Prophet, and once he did, the four of them were going to...what? What were the four of them going to do? Vincent had said that they would talk about that when the time came, and Damien had nodded. But a part of him honestly wondered if his Dad even knew. Which was really disconcerting, in a way. But then again, in a strange way, it was also exhilarating.

His mother's murder hadn't been in the playbook, either. Damien had just gotten so tired of hearing her sighs, and looking into her sad cow eyes. She would have been useless to them, going forward. Or worse, a liability. There was no room on their team for anybody with a conscience. That was for people like the Winchesters, or the Angels.

It was the remnants of her conscience which had prompted Becky to write her confession to Quinn's murder in her own blood, seconds before Becky herself had died. The moment she'd killed Quinn had been the moment she had ceased to be a human being, and became a monster, Becky realized. She hadn't been at all surprised when Damien had opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, holding the Angel blade aloft. She was only surprised it had taken this long. There was a reason she had said aloud where she was going, and also a reason why she hadn't locked the door, or taken any precautions.

As Becky had looked into her son's eyes for the last time, she had searched them for any sign of goodness, or decency. But she'd seen none. She had considered appealing to him to kill his father, instead. Then, if Damien wanted to go out there in the world and live his life however he saw fit, Becky wouldn't stand in his way. She'd considered trying to tell her son where she had been coming from emotionally, when she had made that fateful decision to accept Vincent's help in seducing Sam. But she knew that it would be no use, and besides, what was done was done.

So she had surrendered herself to the knife that Damien had wielded, and as her one small act of atonement, Becky had left her bloody confession for Sam, so he could at least get some closure on it. Should Becky have added that Damien was the one who had killed her? Definitely. The brothers were one hundred percent certain that she had committed suicide, and her confession to Quinn's murder did nothing but bolster that certainty. Or, maybe Becky should at least have added a little P.S. to Sam, admitting to him that he wasn't actually Damien's father. That little tidbit of information would have been most helpful.

Whether it was because Becky's life and strength had been ebbing away at that point, or because she had been unable to bring herself to deny Sam's love for her even with her last breath was unclear. But Becky's decision had been what it had been, and things were about to get a lot more interesting for everyone because of it.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Cas said to Vincent angrily.

Vincent shrugged. "You don't. It's your choice, Cas. What are the lives of three humans, compared to the entire human race? Gail hates Becky's guts, and honestly, don't the Winchesters get on your last nerve, sometimes? When's the last time Dean talked to you with anything even resembling respect? And Sam pictures your wife's face, every time he goes to bed with a woman. So, I'll make you a deal: if you'll just pop in there and bring Damien to me, I'll get Abbadon to cover the damn place with that stuff. Then we can all go our separate ways, and there doesn't need to be any animosity between us. How does that sound?"

Cas laughed harshly. "It sounds like you've lost your mind, that's how it sounds. What would ever make you think I would take a deal like that?"

"Just a minute," Gail said. She put her hand on Cas's arm. "I think we should talk about this."

Cas's eyes narrowed, but she told him quickly over their frequency that she'd had an idea. It was pretty "out there", but it could work. Could Cas and Gabriel stall Vincent for a few minutes?

We can try, he told her.

Gail grabbed a thoroughly disconcerted Joe by the arm. "As a show of good faith, I'm going to take the Chosen One to our house here on Earth, while we're negotiating," she announced loudly. "That way, you don't have to worry about your son's safety, while we're trying to strike up a deal."

Vincent regarded her balefully. "What do you take me for? You'll just pop him into the damn bunker!"

"No, I won't," Gail told him. "You have my word."

"Well, aren't you cute," Vincent said, grinning. She was his daughter, all right.

"OK, OK," she grumbled. "Geez, I'm your kid too, you know," she added, unconsciously echoing the thought he'd just had. "But, it's typical. The instant the boy child comes along, they forget all about the girl." She looked at Abbadon. "You ever have that problem? Oh, wait: never mind. Your father was probably a jackal, or something."

Gabriel laughed. Dammit! She'd surprised it out of him. But he knew there had to be a reason for Gail to be behaving this way, all of a sudden. She was smarter than this. There was no way Vincent was letting her go anywhere with the Chosen One.

Abbadon was looking coolly at Gail now. "You're Vincent's daughter? YOU?" she said scornfully. "An Angel of Heaven?"

"Seems strange, doesn't it?" Gail retorted. "Maybe we should all just go on Maury and settle things, once and for all. Why don't we bring Sam and Becky, too, while we're at it?" she added tartly, looking at Vincent.

Vincent stared at her. Gail had an agenda; he just had no idea what it could be. Did she really think he was going to let her zap the Chosen One into the bunker, and kill Damien with that Archangel blade the young man had in his front pocket? Vincent could tell it was the real deal, too. Next to those golden candlesticks, that blade was the most repulsive object the Voodoo Priest had ever been around. Still, Vincent was sure that he was holding the better hand.

"You can stand there and make all the little jokes you want," he said to Gail. "The longer we stand here shooting the breeze, the more infected they're going to get." He gestured to the bunker. "You're stalling, my girl. We all know that. The only thing I don't know is: why? Waiting for backup, maybe? I notice God isn't here at this little gathering. Go ahead; invite him. He can't kill me. None of you can. So, all you're doing right now is making sure your friends die faster."

"I'm afraid he's right, dearie," Rowena said, emerging from the bunker.

Gail HAD been stalling. She'd put through an emergency prayer to Bobby, telling him what was going on here. The first thing they had to do was find out if Vincent was telling the truth about the poison ivy, or if he was just running a bluff. The only person she could think of who could confirm that to them one way or the other was Rowena. If the redhaired witch had really meant what she'd said about forging a more conciliatory relationship with them going forward, this would be an excellent opportunity for her to prove it. She could tell them if the spell was genuine, and if the answer to that was yes, she should be able to perform a counter-spell that would remove the threat.

It had been a very good idea. There was only one problem: as Rowena approached their little group, she was shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't reverse the spell," the witch told them. She glared over at Abbadon. "My former partner used the spell I taught her, but she has added an extra component to it."

Abbadon smiled. "You noticed! How sweet. Yes, I didn't see much point in making it reversible. Where's the fun in that? Sam and Dean Winchester have been a thorn in my side for years. Dean hacked me to pieces with that damned First Blade! Finally, thanks to Vincent here, I was able to exact my revenge. They're going to get older and older, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. I'm surprised you even care, Rowena. Do you know how many witches those two have killed?"

"So, let me get this straight: it's too late to do anything about this?" Gabriel said angrily, gesturing to the ivy on the wall of the bunker.

"That's right," Abbadon said proudly, "and, the longer they stay in there, the faster the spell will accelerate. If they come out now, they might have a few more months to live. But if they stay in there, that time frame will be considerably shortened." She sneered at the Angels. "Unfortunately, the spell doesn't work on non-humans."

"That's good to know. My arthritis doesn't need another excuse to flare up," Bobby said dryly, emerging from the bunker. He looked at Cas and Gabriel. "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

The men looked back at him. They had actually discussed that, prior to leaving Joe's hospital room. But the lecture that Bobby had given them at Christmas had deterred them. He didn't believe their assertions that Damien was the Beast, and Gabriel had told Cas and Gail that by the time the Winchesters had taken Becky and Damien back to the bunker, Bobby had seemed convinced that the boy was actually Sam's son. The last thing they needed while fighting the forces of Evil would be having to fight God, too.

But God was here now, and he was angry. Bobby turned his attention to Vincent. "What do you want with Sam's son, anyway?" he asked the Voodoo Priest.

Vincent was trying not to grin at the looks on the Angels' faces. Damien had obviously done his thing, convincing God that the boy was the Almighty's de facto grandson. Damn, the kid was good. Look at Cas's face.

"Oh, I don't know," Vincent said offhandedly. "I just thought I'd come here and rattle some cages."

"You're not taking him," Bobby said firmly. "We protect our family, here." Then he looked at the Angels again. "I'll deal with you three, later. Did you actually think you were going to bring this innocent young man here, to be the scapegoat for your vendetta against Vincent? Look, Cas, I don't know if there's still some residual stuff in your system from what Patricia did to you, but Brian – Damien – isn't a damn Beast of anything. He's practically your nephew, for pity's sake! He's in there right now, and the kid is scared, because he has no idea what's going on. His mother is dead, and - "

"What?!" Cas interrupted Bobby, looking at him sharply. "Becky is dead?"

Now Bobby looked sad, instead of angry. "Yeah, Cas. She committed suicide."

"She committed suicide," Gabriel echoed, his voice laden with sarcasm. "I don't suppose the kid was anywhere in her vicinity, at the time?"

Vincent was beyond impressed. Like Gabriel, he was also extremely skeptical that Becky had committed suicide. No; Damien had killed his own mother, within spitting distance of Sam and Dean Winchester, in the hallowed bunker? Oh, this was too good. But he knew better than to show his immense amusement right now. Everything was going Vincent's way. The God Squad just didn't know it, yet.

"I'll tell you what," Vincent said to Bobby. "In deference to your family's grief at this time, I'll leave you alone. I'll even get my associate to take off the spell. But they're going to have to come out of there. She was telling the truth about that. The longer they're exposed to the spores, the worse it will become." Bobby looked at him with a dubious expression, so Vincent held his hands up in supplication. "I'm not up to anything; I promise," Gail's father said in a sincere tone of voice. "I'm not about to go up against God, an Archangel, two fierce warrior Angels, and two Winchesters. I know when I'm outgunned. In fact, why don't you search me, and make sure I don't have a weapon? Gabriel, is it? You and I haven't really had the chance to get acquainted, but I know you've been very good to my daughter. Although, I'm sure you'd be even better to her, if Cas would just look the other way for an hour or so. Am I right, Big Guy?"

Now Abbadon was smiling, too. "That's a terrific idea," she added. "Castiel, you can search me. But, you'd better be very thorough; there are all kinds of places I could be hiding a weapon."

Bobby sighed heavily. So, this was Abbadon. Just as Vincent wasn't really familiar with Gabriel, Bobby had never had the chance to meet Abbadon. He'd already been gone from Earth by the time the boys had gone through that whole thing. If Bobby'd been here, he would have made sure Dean would have never gotten that damn fool Mark, in the first place. But they were wasting time now. Rowena had assured Bobby that the spell was legit, and he believed her. They'd get it taken off, the boys would take custody of Damien and make arrangements for poor Becky's funeral, and Bobby would deal with the Angels. They would also have to sort out one very freaked-out young man, who was standing behind Gabriel at the moment, looking utterly confused. Not that Bobby could blame him. What was his story? God wondered. How had Cas roped him into this mess?

But, first things first. Bobby called Dean's cell. "Come on out, Boys."

A minute later, Sam and Dean emerged from the bunker. Sam was carrying Damien, but as soon as he saw Vincent, he put the boy down and nudged him behind both brothers.

Dean was focused on Abbadon, a shocked look on his face. "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed.

"It's good to see you again, too," she said, grinning widely. The Demon woman looked around at everyone. "Isn't it wonderful, how so many of us know each other?"

"How are you still alive?" Sam said to Abbadon, astonished.

She shrugged. "Let's not pull on that thread, Sammy. Believe it or not, I have no idea, myself. But the bottom line is, I am, and now, I'll get to see you and your brother die. Isn't that delicious?" She looked at Bobby. "You and I don't really know each other, so I'll short-cut this for you: there's no way to take that spell off. None. The only way that spell can be broken is if that ivy is cut down. Good luck with that, though. If I know Dean – and I do – he's already tried every kind of knife there is in the place. Then, Rowena would have tried to hex it off. No luck. You probably tried it too, didn't you, Bobby? But, no dice. Am I right? There's only one thing that will cut that ivy, but I'm not going to tell you what it is. Why should I?"

Gabriel was seething. "Well, in that case, we might as well do what we came here to do," he said through gritted teeth. "Do your stuff, Chosen One." He wiggled his finger, tossing Sam and Dean to the ground.

Joe hesitated for a moment, looking at Damien. He was just a little kid! But then, the Archangel blade was in his hand. How had it gotten there? Joe had no idea. But now that it was, the blade glowed a bright yellow-gold. Joe could feel it pulling him in the direction of the boy. He raised the blade, and Damien's stomach clenched. He tried to move, but he was unable. The Winchesters were struggling to get off the ground, but Gabriel was holding them there.

Bobby waved his hand, thinking he would push Damien elsewhere, but the boy wouldn't budge. Why? Because Vincent, Abbadon and Rowena were reciting incantations loudly now, shielding the child. Meanwhile, Castiel and Gail were waving their arms, holding the child in place. Bobby had some powers the others didn't, but he didn't have enough juice to cut through all of that.

As Josiah reached Damien, Cas and Gail and Gabriel all made eye contact, and all three Angels focused their energies on nullifying the shielding around Damien. Rowena was confused. Why were they leaving the boy vulnerable like this? Bobby, Dean and Sam had told Rowena that Damien was Sam's son. The witch had been trying to help, by using her magic to help shield the child. But now, as the Winchester men were slowly rising from the ground, and Bobby was shouting at his Angels to stand down, the young man they had called the Chosen One thrust the blade at the boy's chest, and...

It bounced off Damien's thorax. Joe tried again, putting all of his weight behind the attack. The Archangel blade was repelled again, and this time, it flew out of Joe's hand, and into Gabriel's.

As the Archangel Gabriel gripped his blade tightly in his fist, it glowed brightly again. The wind picked up in the field behind the bunker, and there was a flash of lightning, and a roll of thunder.

"I am an Archangel of the Lord, and I do this in His name," Gabriel intoned loudly. There was another flash of lightning, and his wings spread out behind him. Gail noted with amazement that they hadn't even ripped his shirt.

Gabriel flew over to Damien, who fell to the ground. The boy was terrified. He'd known that so-called Chosen One wouldn't be able to kill him. The guy was just an ordinary human. But he hadn't expected this wisecracking womanizer to transform into a Heavenly assassin in less than two seconds. And what was Damien's father doing about it?

Vincent was trying, but with Castiel's and Gail's combined powers focused on him, he felt like he was underwater, swimming against the tide. He bellowed with rage.

Sam had finally risen off the ground, and he launched himself at Gabriel now, shouting, "Don't kill my son! Please! He's just an innocent little kid!"

"He will turn everything to dust, and the streets will run red with blood," Gabriel said coldly. He waved his free hand, and Sam was held immobile.

Gabriel raised the blade over a cowering Damien. "Bobby! Cas! Stop him!" Dean yelled. "He's Sam's kid, for God's sake!"

"He is the Beast of the Apocalypse," Cas insisted. He raised his arm, rendering Dean immobile. "This is what must be done."

"If you do this, we will hunt you down, and we will kill you," Sam said to Gabriel in a deceptively calm tone. Then he looked at Cas. "And anyone who helped you do it, too." Then he looked at Gail, and his tone changed. "You can't let them do this," he said to her. "He's my son, Gail. Tell them to stand down. They'll listen to you. Please. He's the only son I'll ever have."

She was crying now. "He's NOT your son, Sam. He's Vincent's. And he's evil. You know we wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't."

Gabriel brought the blade down, and Damien threw his arms in the air, screaming...

Vincent roared with laughter as Gabriel went flying across the field, still clutching his blade. The Voodoo Priest couldn't help it. His son had just repelled an Archangel, in full pious, winged mode. Fantastic! First, the so-called Chosen One, now this.

"Hey, Cas!" Vincent crowed loudly. "Why don't you try it? If he can do that to an Archangel, he can probably tear YOU to pieces!"

Gabriel was shocked, to say the least, but he was also furious. That little bastard! Damien was getting up off the ground now, a smile playing on his lips.

Meanwhile, Rowena had sidled up to Abbadon during all of the action, and she was looking at her former partner with a hurt expression. "How could you just leave me like that?" she asked the Demon woman bitterly. "No goodbye, not even a note? And, to go to HIM?" She gestured angrily at Vincent. "Why?"

"Because I'm the Angel of the Abyss," Abbadon told her. "Because I'm finally getting my chance. I'm going to be the Queen of Hell, and Crowley will be my little footstool, once I sit on the throne." She looked at the Winchesters. "I've already killed his favourite pets. In just a matter of months, maybe even weeks, the two of you will grow old, and then you'll be dead. Enjoy some quality time with your son, Sam. Better make sure he's in the Will."

"I took you into my home, and I taught you the ancient ways," Rowena said to Abbadon. "You betrayed me."

"Oh, grow up," Abbadon snapped. "You knew what I was when you met me."

"I thought I did," the redhaired witch said evenly.

Abbadon shrugged. "And I thought I knew YOU. What are you doing here, hanging around with the good guys? That's not who you are."

"You have no idea who I am, and what I'm capable of," Rowena fumed.

"Whatever," the tall, dark-haired woman said coolly. "Vincent and I are going to burn it all down to the ground, anyway. Either you can get on board, or you can burn, too. You witches are familiar with being burned, aren't you?"

"Daddy!" Damien shouted. He ran for Sam, tears spilling down his cheeks. Now that he had his confidence back, the boy had switched easily back into his role. He'd been pretty badly scared there for a minute, though.

Sam scooped the boy up into his arms and Damien looked at Gabriel, who was dusting himself off. Gabe's wings were gone now, and he looked like an ordinary Angel again. The boy smiled.

Then Damien looked at Josiah, who had turned out to be just as plain as his name: Joe. The young man just stood there, his mouth gaping open. What a fool. Had he really thought he was going to be able to kill the Beast of the Apocalypse?

Damien's little fist closed, and he squeezed as hard as he could. Joe started to cough. Blood ran from his mouth, and he fell to his knees on the ground, clutching at his throat.

Cas and Gail rushed over to the young man, to see if they could help him, somehow.

"You're on the losing side," Abbadon told Rowena softly.

"Why don't you join us?" Vincent chimed in, grinning at the redhaired witch. "You know you don't belong with the Angels. Come with us. We can show you a really good time, while we're covering the Earth with burned-out Angel wings."

Gabriel was advancing on Vincent now. "Hey, Vince! Nobody knows a good time better than me! Nobody! And right about now, I'm thinking it would be really fun to gut you, like a fish!"

"Big talk, from a guy who couldn't even take out a nine-year-old," Vincent sneered. "Oh, and by the way, where IS that pesky boy, anyway?"

They all halted. While this latest fracas had broken out, no one had been paying attention to Sam and Dean. The brothers had Damien, and they were hustling the boy towards the bunker door.

"If anybody comes near him, they're dead!" Dean shouted. He glared at Cas. "Anybody."

"Dean - " Cas said, straightening up from where he'd been crouched over Joe, who was laying on the ground. The young man had choked to death, drowning in his own blood. There was nothing that Cas or Gail were able to do for him, now.

"I mean it, Cas. Hands off of him. All of you," Dean repeated. "If we see one Angel – any Angel – near him, they're dead."

"Where are you going?" Gail called out. "That ivy is poison, remember?"

"Don't you worry about that," Dean retorted. "Maybe you should just worry about the fact that you just stood there, and let those guys try to murder Sam's son. I thought more of you, Gail. I really did."

"He's NOT Sam's son!" she exclaimed through gritted teeth, frustrated. "He's - "

"Stop it, Gail!" Sam shouted. "Just...stop it. Damien is my son. He's my family, and Dean's. Just like I thought that you and Cas were. Even Gabriel. You know, Becky tried to warn me. She said you resented my having a son. So now, you've made up this whole 'Beast' nonsense, so you can justify it."

"Do you realize how ridiculous you sound, right now?" Gail shrieked. "Why, why on Earth would we want to DO that? You're our family, Sam! You and Dean are our brothers!"

"Not any more," Sam said bluntly. With that, he turned his back on them and carried Damien back into the bunker. Dean paused for a moment, glaring at Cas. It was Cas's betrayal that had hurt Dean the worst. His best friend, signing off on the murder of Sam's little boy. Even back in the days when Cas had been Heaven's most infuriatingly tight-ass soldier Angel, Cas would have never considered doing something like that. He had defied his Heavenly orders, time and time again, to stand with Dean and Sam. "How the hell could you do this to us, man?" the elder Winchester said to Cas now, in a pleading tone of voice.

"Dean, please. Listen to reason. We can talk about this," Cas said, matching his tone.

"No, we can't," Dean replied. "We're done, here."

The assembled group heard the garage door open, and the Impala pulled out, Sam at the wheel. Now Cas realized what the brothers had been doing. He stepped forward, but Dean pulled the Angel blade out of his pocket, pointing it in Cas's direction. "Don't. Don't even think about it," Dean said harshly.

Cas stopped in his tracks. He and Gabriel and Gail could overpower the brothers, of course. But, then what? No, it was better to just step back for now, and let things cool off for a bit. He had been dismayed to witness how easily Damien had been able to defend himself against both the Chosen One, and Gabriel. The Beast was much more powerful than Castiel had been led to believe.

Dean headed for the car and got in, and then Sam floored the accelerator. The car fishtailed a bit, and then, it was gone.

Vincent started to laugh. This was fantastic. Exactly what he'd hoped would happen. Damien had those guys wrapped around his little finger. Sam and Dean Winchester would protect Vincent's son with their lives, however long those may be, until Vincent located the missing member of their team, the Prophet. Bimbo Becky was dead, and the Chosen One was history, too. Even Gabriel in all his fearsome Archangel glory had been no match for the Beast. Cas and his merry little band were out of luck, weren't they?

"Looks like you're out of chips, Cas," Vincent said cheerfully. "Next time you try to kill my son, maybe you should bring a little more firepower. Or, you can just try it, yourself. Damien won't even have to lift a finger, then. Your best buddies will be glad to do the job." He grinned at Abbadon. "Way to seal the deal on that ivy," the Voodoo Priest said to her. "See you all at the Apocalypse." He waved his hand, and the two of them disappeared.

Bobby shook his head vigorously. "HIS son?" he said in a dazed voice. "But, I thought - "

"The Beast had you in his thrall," Cas said, tight-lipped, "just as he has Sam and Dean, now. As long as they are in his presence, they will continue to believe that he is Sam's son."

"So it's true, then? That little kid is - "

"- The Beast of the damn Apocalypse," Gabriel said, letting out a frustrated breath. "So, what the hell are we supposed to do, now? Got any bright ideas, my Lord?"

"Don't smart off to me, Boy," Bobby said irritably. He was angry at himself for having been taken in so easily.

"Well, it would have been nice to have had a little backup," Gail chimed in, her hands on her hips. But then, she sighed. "OK, we're all going to have to calm down, here. You realize that what we're doing right now is exactly what Vincent wants us to do, right? If we fight amongst ourselves, we make it easier for him."

Cas was thoughtful. "Was the Demon telling the truth?" he asked Rowena sharply.

She looked at him, her gaze baleful. Castiel made it very difficult for her to maintain her resolve to work with the Angels, instead of against them. His tone was imperious; demanding. But she was angrier at Abbadon and Vincent, at the moment. How dare that Demon bitch take Rowena's magic, and use it that way? Well, to be fair, she supposed, the idea for the spores in the ivy had been Madame Marie's, to begin with. But Rowena's former partner had shared the spell freely with her, and Rowena had shared it with Abbadon, just as freely, only to be stabbed in the back with it. And all for Vincent, no less. In the red-hot heat of her anger, the irony of her own past deeds was completely lost on Rowena. All she knew was that she was determined to help the Angels now, even if it was the last thing she did on this Earth.

Her expression brightened. Marie! "I know of a way to break the spell," Rowena said out loud. "Balisarda."

"What's that, Ro?" Bobby asked her.

Rowena's lips twitched momentarily at his usage of the short-term version of her name. She especially enjoyed the way Castiel's mouth tightened upon hearing it.

"That's an ancient sword, which was forged by a French sorceress," Rowena responded. "It's capable of cutting through any enchanted substance. If we cut that ivy with the sword, the spell will break, too."

"Terrific. So, where do we go to get that?" Gabe said sardonically. After the humiliation he'd just suffered, he was starving for anything that could possibly be good news. "The French Revolution? 'Let them eat cake'." But then, the Archangel glanced down at Joe's body, and his smile faded. What a mess. Poor Joe, cut down in his youth by some snot-nosed little Apocalyptic wanna-be. Gabriel wanted another shot at that kid. How dare he toss an Archangel of the Lord around like a frisbee? And then there was Becky, laying dead there in the bunker. Granted, she hadn't been their favourite person, but she hadn't deserved that, either.

Rowena laughed softly at what Gabe had said. "Not that far," she replied. "Try New Orleans, Louisiana, at Mardi Gras."

"Mardi Gras?" Gail blurted out. "But, that's not until..."

"The Druid parade is held at the end of February," Rowena informed her. "My former partner will have the sword in her possession for a pagan celebration that weekend."

"Your former partner, Marie Laveau?" Gail asked the witch.

"That's right, dearie," Rowena said, nodding.

"Uhhh...didn't Sam kill her, when we were there?" Gail inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Obviously not," Rowena replied calmly. "In fact, I saw her a couple of months ago, on an unrelated matter. Those Winchesters should be very grateful that they didn't kill her. She is the one who will have the sword that we need. Now, all we'll have to do is persuade her to loan it to us."

Gail was still puzzled. That was weird. Both Sam and Dean had assured her that they had killed Marie Laveau in that graveyard. It wasn't like them to make a mistake like that. But, like Rowena said, she guessed it was a good thing that they had made it. They had to break the spell that the poison ivy's spores had infected Sam and Dean with, and then they could worry about mending fences with the brothers. Damien obviously could have killed Sam and Dean too, if he'd wanted to. But it must have suited Vincent to leave his son with the Winchesters for the moment, knowing that the brothers would protect the boy. Still, it made her blood boil.

"You know what, Bobby?" Gail said now. "If you can track those guys down, I could pay them a little visit. I can let Damien know we're not going to put up with any crap, and then at least I could tell Sam and Dean we're going to get something that'll take that spell off, if they can hang in there for a couple of months."

"No," Cas said quickly. "That's out of the question. You saw what the Beast did to Gabriel, and to Josiah. Not to mention killing his own mother." Like Gabriel, Cas didn't believe for one second that Becky had committed suicide.

"Besides, Dean said that they would kill any one of you, if you tried to get near Damien," Bobby pointed out now. "And I hate to tell ya this, but he meant it."

Gail smiled grimly. "Yes, but HE can't kill me. Remember? I used the revival spell on him. Isn't that right?" she asked Rowena.

The witch sighed. So, they'd figured it out. "Yes," she confirmed. "Yes, that is true. The spell is reciprocal. Neither party on either side of the transaction is able to kill the other, once the ultimate spell is performed."

"So, THAT'S why you and your son both still exist," Cas said slowly, nodding. The others looked at him, and then Gail and Bobby started to nod, too. Rowena had revived her son with that same spell, years ago. Now, it all made sense. Mother and son kept on wishing the other dead, trying to exhort others to kill the object of their hatred. They had all wondered why, if they really hated each other as much as they claimed, either the King of Hell or his mother hadn't acted on it.

"See? So if Dean can't kill me, I can go and talk to them," Gail argued. "Dean CAN'T kill me, and Sam WON'T."

"Oh, yeah. Like those two could ever kill ME," Gabriel scoffed.

"Maybe not, but Damien might be able to kill any one of us, if not all," Cas pointed out. "Even you, Bobby. Until we can discover the true extent of his powers, I suggest we all stay away. We will go to New Orleans and get the sword to break the Aging spell, and then we will figure out where we go from there." He looked down at Josiah's body, frowning deeply. "If you'll transport Joe and Becky's bodies away from here, Bobby, we will let the appropriate people know about their demise."

"Who would those people be, Cas?" Gabriel asked his Brother curiously.

"Kevin will probably want to know about Becky, and Ethan and Karen will want to know about Joe," Cas replied in a somber tone. "Perhaps Ethan can advise what he thinks we should do, with regard to Joe's mother, Rosalie."

"What are you talking about, Cas?" Bobby asked, confused.

"Joe's mother was pregnant with him when she was abducted and held at gunpoint by his abusive father years ago, in Philadelphia," Cas explained sadly. "Ethan was the police officer who responded to the call. Unfortunately, because he was a brash, inexperienced rookie, Ethan rushed the man. In his eagerness to protect Rosalie, he didn't wait for his partner to get into position. Ethan was shot and killed by the perpetrator, but because the man had been temporarily distracted, Ethan's partner was subsequently able to shoot him, before he was able to harm Rosalie, or her unborn baby." Cas let out a shaky breath. "I can't help but wonder at the senselessness of it all. I felt sure that there was a divine reason for Ethan's sacrifice. When we found out that Joe was supposedly the Chosen One, I was sure that it had been God's plan to exchange Ethan's life for his, so that Joe could remove the Beast from the Earth. But, now? Now I have no idea what to do, or where we go from here."

They were all silent for a moment, and then Bobby said, "I'll tell ya where we go from here. We give these two a decent burial, and then we go back up to Heaven and decide on our next move, together. Agreed?"

The Angels nodded, and Bobby touched Rowena lightly on the arm. "Thanks for your help, dear. We'll be in touch. And, if you come up with anything that'll help before Mardi Gras, you know how to get a hold of us. If I'm in the Garden, you can leave a message. Or, if it's really urgent, you can call Cas. Right?" he added, looking calmly at Gail's husband.

Cas was frowning, but he nodded briefly in acknowledgement. "Right," he confirmed tersely. He wasn't particularly happy about it, but Cas had to admit that she had done her utmost to help them here today, and she hadn't asked for anything in return. Yet.

Rowena was also frowning, but she had to tell herself to remain calm. Castiel might look as if he would like to run his Angel blade right through her, but she had to admit that he had shown admirable restraint. He hadn't even uttered a single death threat. For her son-in-law, that was real progress. She'd better quit while she was ahead. "Aye," she agreed softly. "I'll be in touch." Then she began to walk away. A puff of smoke obscured her from the Angels' view, and then she was gone.

With one last look at the bunker, the Angels followed suit.


	3. Could It Be Magic

Chapter 3 – Could It Be Magic

It had been very difficult getting through the next couple of months without seeing or talking to Sam or Dean, but the Angels had been keeping tabs on them, of course. Bobby had remarked dryly that it was as if they'd forgotten who the boss of Heaven was. Either that, or maybe they thought he was still operating under the belief that Damien was a Winchester. But, in any event, even though they moved from place to place, Bobby knew exactly where they were at any given time.

Cas and Gail had roped their family members into helping them too, by calling the brothers once in a while to find out how they were doing. After a bit of a heated debate, it was decided that they should let the human members of their family know what was going on. This went against Cas's nature, but he had to admit that they would be doing a disservice to their friends if they didn't warn them. What if Sam and Dean turned up at one of their households, with Damien in tow? Just because it was of some benefit to Damien and Vincent to keep the Winchesters alive for now, that didn't mean the same would hold true for any of their other loved ones. And as far as the Winchesters themselves, why would the boy tip his hand and kill the brothers now, when they were due to die soon from Abbadon's poison, anyway?

Barry and Mike had been skeptical when Cas and Gail had popped up to Canada to explain the situation, but Carolyn had believed the Angels immediately. She and Tommy had grown up in a strictly religious household. Stories about the Beast of the Apocalypse had been like bedtime stories for her and her siblings. The Devil can assume many pleasing shapes, she had said, sounding just like her father for a moment. That had made Gail think of Abbadon, and she had done the slow burn. They were dealing with far greater issues right now, but the next time Gail saw that Demon woman, she was going to tell Abbadon that if she ever looked at Cas like that again, Gail was going to go all avenging Angel on her ass.

Then Carolyn had gone on to talk about Angels and Demons, Legion, Beasts, and False Prophets, and Gail's eyes had started to glaze over. Thankfully, Barry had come to her rescue by inviting her to the kitchen to keep him company while he was making dinner, leaving Cas and Carolyn to their protracted theological discussion.

Gail supposed she should really know more about that kind of stuff, going forward, but her heart hadn't been in it. It was so weird, not being able to go to the bunker and see Sam and Dean. New Year's Eve had come and gone, and instead of having a family get-together, they'd ended up popping from house to house, like ghosts. They'd had drinks with all of their human friends and family, finally ringing in the New Year at Frank's house. Frank had gotten drunk, and then he had gotten mad. What the hell was the matter with this crazy family, anyway? Since when did his sister and the rest of the Angels he knew go in for this religious crap? Ummm...what? Gail had asked her brother incredulously. She knew what he meant, Frank had retorted irritably. This was so stupid. He didn't know anything about any so-called Beast, and he didn't care. All he knew was that they should all be together, hoisting a few to celebrate the New Year. The Winchesters were his brothers, too. Then Gail had started to cry, and Bobby had called Frank an idjit, and Cas had glared at his brother-in-law, grabbed Gail's hand, and popped her over to their house. She had cried some more, saying that none of this was fair. Cas had agreed, holding her tightly. His heart had been breaking, too. Sam and Dean's absence left a huge void in their lives, one that Cas was feeling just as much as Gail was. But he had drawn on his training in Heaven's Army and borne the loss stoically. In a strange way, it helped Cas when Gail became emotional, because he could fulfill his function as her pillar of support.

He had cuddled her that night until her tears had dried, and then Cas had said softly, "Let me fill you up with my love. Let me be everything to you, as you are to me."

Then Gail had felt like crying again, because he was being so sweet. But she'd known how much he missed Sam and Dean too, and how much it hurt Cas's heart to see her cry.

Well, they couldn't do anything about that until the Druid parade at Mardi Gras, at the end of February. But they could make sure that the remainder of their family didn't fragment because of it, Cas had said firmly. Then he had smiled at Gail, asking her who would have ever imagined that two flannel-wearing, beer-drinking bachelor brothers would have turned out to be the focal point of the universe, and she had laughed dutifully. Until they were reunited with Sam and Dean, Cas went on, they were going to have to make sure to keep the rest of the family united.

Nicole had been helpful in that regard. Due to her and Gail's friendship and her affection for Cas, Dean's girlfriend had half-jokingly offered to act as a "double agent" for them. She was one of the few people whose calls Dean would still take. She had reported to the Angels that everyone was fine, but the last couple of times, Dean had refused to Skype with her. She'd asked him why, and he had been very evasive. But Nicole told the Angels that she had a pretty good idea. They had gone to visit her in Vancouver, disclosing both Damien's true identity, and the information they had on the toxic spell which had infected the brothers. Much to their relief, the Beast had been unaffected by the Aging spell, or they would have had a whole new set of problems. But Nicole reported that Dean's voice had sounded strange; like he had aged a couple of decades, since Christmas. Now that Nicole had seen everything she had seen in the past year with this group, she had no doubt at all that the Angels were telling the absolute truth. She was concerned for the mens' welfare, on a couple of fronts. Her friends had attempted to reassure her that they had a plan in place to break the spell, provided Rowena was sincere about helping them.

But Nicole was also worried about the emotional implications of what was currently happening between the Angels and the brothers, and it was far more difficult to reassure her on that score, because Cas and Gail were worried about that, too. Even once they were successful in removing the poisonous spell the ivy had cast on the guys, assuming that they were successful, how were they supposed to break the hold that the Beast had on the brothers' minds? Unless they could somehow convince Sam and Dean that Damien was not who they thought he was, they were still stuck in the current, unsustainable situation. Cas had tried to make light of it by stating that he and the brothers had been at loggerheads before, many times, and they had always been able to work their way through it. But this was the most serious test their bond had ever undergone. If he couldn't find a way to convince them that Damien was not Sam's son, how could they ever forgive Cas for committing the child's murder?

Not that Cas had any idea how that was supposed to happen, now. The Chosen One was dead, and Gabriel, an Archangel of the Lord, had also been unable to harm the Beast. Bobby had a team of scholars, headed up by Kevin, working on a solution. The young Angel had been saddened to learn of Becky's death, and the circumstances surrounding it. Kevin no longer had any kind of romantic feelings towards her, but he did feel compassion. Of course, none of them knew how dark things had gotten for Becky at the end. And Bobby and the group of Angels who had been at the bunker that day had formed a tacit agreement between them not to mention Becky's confession to Quinn's murder. Things were scary and grim enough right now, as it was.

Frank and Gail had made up since their little blowup on New Year's Eve, of course. He had called Cas's cell the next day, apologizing to Cas, and then to his sister. Jody had visited him in a dream after he'd passed out drunk, Frank had said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Just hearing her brother like that was enough to bring Gail to the verge of tears again herself, and of course, she could hear the pain in his voice when he'd mentioned his deceased wife. People said time healed those kinds of wounds, but people were crazy, in Gail's opinion. Time might help a bit, but it would never heal an open, gaping wound like the one that was inflicted on someone who'd lost the love of their life. How could it? Everything you did, everywhere you went, there was something that would remind you of your lost loved one. Frank still lived in the same house where he and Jody had lived together. Sometimes, Gail thought she should talk to her brother again about selling the place. But Frank was a grown man who could make his own decisions, and he had Angela to think about, too. She loved her school, and her friends. If Frank uprooted her and moved elsewhere, she would have to start all over again. Hadn't her niece suffered enough loss in her young life, already?

Anyway, in Frank's dream, Jody had told him that he was behaving like a jackass. Why the hell would Cas and Gail go running around saying the kid was the Beast of the Apocalypse if he wasn't? What could possibly be in it for them to make something like that up? They loved Sam and Dean like brothers. The whole thing stunk like a skunk, Jody'd said to her husband, using one of the phrases that had amused their Robbie so much when he'd been a little boy. Frank had rolled over in his sleep, lips twitching at that. But then Jody began to lecture him again, telling Frank he was smarter than that. Why was Vincent so interested in the boy? Just because he liked to screw with people? There were a whole bunch of other people Gail's father could be screwing with, yet he had picked the son of a guy he had no connection to, the same kid that the Angels swore up and down was Vincent's kid, not Sam's? Damien hadn't been at the bunker more than a day, and there were already two dead people there. Think about that, Pookie, she'd said, and this time, a tear had rolled down Frank's cheek. Think about it. Go on the Internet if you have to, or grab that Bible in the drawer of the nightstand on my side of the bed. I had a lot of time on my hands when I was bedridden, and sometimes, it was the only reading material handy. The Second Beast will join with the First Beast, the Angel of the Abyss, and the False Prophet to do battle with the Lamb of God and the forces of the Righteous, and if the bad guys win, it's Game Over. There's nothing that makes Evil bastards happier than when the good guys are divided among themselves. Quit being a jackass and back the Angels up, because you know they're right.

You called me a jackass twice, Frank pointed out, snoring lightly.

That's because it bears repeating, Jody had said, but now, she was smiling. I love you so much, Frank. I'd be there with you, if I could. Give everybody a hug and a kiss for me, and keep a couple for yourself. It's time for you to stand up for what's right, just like we taught our kids to do.

Where ARE you, Jodes? Frank asked her, after he'd swallowed the lump in his throat. Bobby's been searching for you in the Garden, but he says you're not there. Did you go to the Netherworld?

But he never received an answer, because at that moment, Frank had felt a tickle on his cheek, and he'd opened his eyes to see Angela crouched over his head, her hair hanging down in his face.

"Rob wants to know if you want breakfast, or just coffee," Angela said brightly. "He said I should ask you if you want to sleep in."

Frank opened his mouth to say that if he'd wanted to sleep in, she shouldn't have woken him up to ask him if he wanted to sleep in. But instead, he sighed. "Tell your brother I said he's a big chicken, sending you up to get me instead of coming up here, himself," Frank told his daughter. "Buck, buck." He flapped his arms.

"Buck, buck," Angela said agreeably. Her nose wrinkled. "He and Suzanne are smooching, just like Uncle Cas and Aunt Gail do, all the time. It's gross."

Frank grinned. "I'm glad you feel that way. Remember what I told you: kissing is gross, and disgusting. Wait until you get to be at least thirty-five years old, or fourty. Then, we'll talk about it some more."

Angela giggled, and Frank grabbed his daughter around the waist. "Tickle Monster!" he exclaimed, even though it hurt his head to do it. He started to tickle her, and her high-pitched laughter was like an icepick going right through his brain. But it was also the best damn medicine he could have taken to alleviate the sweet heartache of his dream about Jody.

"Tell Rob to put on some bacon and eggs, and a big pot of coffee," Frank said, after the Tickle Monster had gone away. "I have a phone call to make."

So everything was back to normal now, or at least, as normal as it got when two of your brothers hated your guts because you had to kill your nephew, Gail thought dryly, sitting at Frank's kitchen table. Actually, she guessed she needed to amend that last one, because technically, Damien was actually her brother too, or her half-brother, she supposed. Boy, was it exhausting, trying to keep track of all these relationships, sometimes. She sighed. If only Vincent could keep it in his pants once in a while, her Christmas list would be a lot shorter.

Wow. She'd better not say that last part out loud to anyone, Gail thought, not even Frank. He would probably think it was funny as hell, but Cas probably wouldn't, and he was sitting right beside her, looking pissed off.

Of course, to be fair, Cas always looked that way these days. The longer the situation remained in stasis, the angrier he got. Surely there must be some way to get that sword before the pagan parade? He'd appealed to Bobby. Rowena said there wasn't, God had replied. He and his former paramour were keeping in touch. Rowena had advised that she knew Marie Laveau very well, and this was the only way to handle it. The Creole witch was skittish around men in general, and Hunters in particular. Their kind did not mix well with Angels either, and if an ancient black-skinned witch were to come face to face with a white God with a Southern accent wearing a trucker hat, she would probably just hex them all, on general principles. Bobby had been extremely bemused at that comment, but he had taken her point, too. Things had been very, very different for people like Marie back in her day, witch or no witch. So Bobby had told Cas to settle down. He was just as anxious as they were to take that spell off the boys, but Rowena was the expert in this situation. They probably only had one shot at getting that sword, and he didn't want to blow it.

There was one piece of intel Bobby had that he hadn't shared with anyone, not even Cas and Gail. He had broken about fifty of Heaven's rules by doing it, but he'd had to find out for himself. So he had gone to Earth, to the city where Dean and Sam and Damien were holed up at that time. The Winchesters had put their best street smarts to work. They were staying at a medium-priced, kid-friendly motel in a city that was just big enough for them to be anonymous in.

Bobby had known their location, of course, but he had been unable to actually see them. He'd told himself that he had no choice: he had to make sure. So he'd gone to a church in the area, sat in a pew and waited, and when a middle-aged woman came in and knelt down to pray, he had possessed her. As the current occupant of the High Office, he was the only one who could inhabit a human without their express permission. He felt awful about it, but it was the only way.

He used the lady to walk to the motel where the boys were staying. Thank goodness she hadn't been wearing high heels, Bobby'd thought with grim humour, or his dogs would have been barking by the time he got there. He'd walked around to the back, and there was Dean's Baby. Bobby grinned. So much for clandestine methods. But then, his smile faded. He could sense the sigils painted on the walls and floors of the room. The boys hadn't been kidding. They must be paying a huge damage deposit, or spending a lot of time re-painting. Bobby's beard might have twitched at that, if he'd had one at the moment.

He moved back around the corner of the building and waited. Bobby knew his boys; sooner or later, they would have to come out, likely for take-out food, or a beer run. And, after a while, Dean did. He looked around, then got into the Impala and drove off. Presumably, Sam was in the room with Damien.

Bobby'd stood there, rooted to the spot with shock. Dean had looked at least Bobby's age when he'd died, if not older, and he had moved with the slow gait of an old man. That was how Bobby had come to know that the spell was genuine, and that they'd better get this mission done, and done right.

"OK, Angela's all fixed up," Frank told the group at the kitchen table. "It's just us grownups, now. What did you guys want to talk to me about?"

"We were wondering if you would like to accompany us to New Orleans," Cas told him.

Gail's brother was surprised. "Me?" he said. "Why?"

"Because we will be dealing with witches, and you're an experienced Hunter," Cas replied.

Frank eyed his brother-in-law for a moment, and then he looked at Gail. "Okie-dokie. Now, what's the real reason?" he asked his sister.

"Actually, that IS the real reason," she responded. "Well, that, and the fact that you'll be like my extra layer of protection."

Frank grinned. "Oh, so I'm like that safety seal on the milk jug that you can never, ever peel off."

"You know, that's an excellent way to put it," she wisecracked.

"In all seriousness, yes, I was hoping to have the backup," Cas said earnestly. "It'll be just myself and Gail going. Rowena said that too many Angels would upset the witch who will have the sword."

"Oh, but a Hunter is okay?" Rob said with humour, shaking his head. He glanced at Suzanne, who was looking a little dazed at the moment. Ever since Christmas, Rob's girlfriend had had to receive a crash course on everything that was going on with their family, and it had been an eye-opener, to say the least. But she loved Rob, and the more time she had spent in his family's company, the more she had come to realize what good people they were.

Coincidentally enough, considering what they were talking about right now, was the fact that Rob had been teaching his girlfriend self-defense techniques in the gym in the basement of the house. Frank had joined in, from time to time. He'd been joking that the two of them were making him look like some fat-cat, desk-riding politician. If the situation had been normal, they would probably have taken Suzanne over to the bunker and had her train with a few simulated weapons. But at least she was learning the fundamentals. No girlfriend of his son's was going to go without an education when it came to beating up bad guys, Frank had told her. But Suzanne knew there was more to it than that. Monsters, Demons, bad Angels...there were all kinds of dangerous things out there. And now, there was a Beast of the Apocalypse. Holy moly. And Sue had thought HER situation was bad. Rob still had no idea what that was. Suzanne had been feeling a little funny about that, but she had rationalized to herself that they were dealing with a lot of stuff right now, and the last thing they needed was to take on her baggage, too. Once the current crisis was resolved, she and Rob would have to have a heart-to-heart.

"So, what do you say?" Gail said now, poking her brother. "Have you got any vacation time coming at City Hall? How'd you like to see a Mardi Gras parade?"

"I'd like it a lot more if you'd quit poking me," he said, swatting at her hand. But he was considering the offer, and he was considering it very seriously. He hadn't been anywhere in ages, not since...he couldn't even remember. Since before Angela, probably. Aw, geez. Angela.

Rob read Frank's expression correctly. "I can look after Angela, if you want to go, Dad."

"Yeah?" Frank said, his expression brightening.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I can stay here and help out while you're gone, too," Suzanne piped up.

Frank looked at her for a minute. He liked her fine, and by now, he knew she wasn't crazy. She'd told him that Dr. Esmond had been helping her to deal with the loss of some family members, just like Rob. Frank had felt a little ashamed of himself for thinking what he'd been thinking. He should be glad that Rob had found a nice girl to be with. There were so many weirdos out there. Hell, half of them were in his own family.

Gail poked her brother again. "So that means you're coming, right?"

He glared down at her poking finger. "Yeah, I guess so," he replied irritably. "And, just so you know, I'll be bringing a variety of weapons."

Gail laughed merrily. It was the first genuine laugh she'd had since that whole mess at the bunker, and she blessed him for it.

Frank regarded his sister for a moment, and then, he grabbed the folded section of the newspaper that was sitting by him on the kitchen table. Rob teased his dad about it, but Frank insisted he liked to have something to read with his morning coffee that didn't have to be plugged in.

"Hey, have you seen what that asshat of a President is doing, over in France?" Frank said conversationally. Rob and Suzanne exchanged glances. Oh, brother. Here it came. He'd subjected them to this, earlier.

"No; what?" Gail responded.

"The guy's a real jerkface," Frank said, rolling his eyes. "I've been following this story for a while. I thought OUR guy was bad, but this guy is in a class all by himself. Just when you think he can't sink any lower, he manages to do it."

"How so?" Cas asked his brother-in-law, curious.

"The guy's, like, one step away from being a Nazi," Frank said with a frown.

"Don't you mean 'one goose-step away'?" Rob quipped.

Frank lowered the newspaper. "I am so proud to be your father right now." He raised his hand, and Rob slapped it. "Anyway," Frank went on, "the problem is, his poll numbers are high, because he's basically eliminated terrorism in his country."

"Well then, that's a good thing, isn't it, Frank?" Cas said, puzzled.

"You would think so, but it's the way he's going about it," Frank said, and his expression was thoughtful now. "He's also eliminated immigration, and from what I read here, anybody who's not a straight-up French-born white person gets practically treated like a criminal by this guy's government. Says here that he's instituted a policy that makes any immigrant who doesn't want to get kicked out of the country get a tattoo, identifying them as an immigrant."

"What?!" Cas exclaimed, looking at Frank sharply. "That sounds like - "

"I know, right?" Gail's brother said, raising an eyebrow. "That's EXACTLY what it sounds like."

Cas was perturbed. "But...they can't DO that!" he blurted out. "That's blatant racism! It's immoral! It's illegal!"

"Not in France, it's not," Frank said, pointing to the newspaper. "This guy Levesque says he's the President of the country, and HE makes the law, not the immigrants. He says the people voted for him, so they should just let him do his job. Then he cites the fact that they haven't had any terrorist attacks since he took office, and then he changes the subject to his upcoming wedding. The old bait-and-switch technique. He's marrying an American woman. Guess she's not considered an immigrant," he added dryly. He rustled the newspaper. "Actually, she's from New Orleans, speaking of which. Her name's...here it is. Michelle Delacroix. She's some rich society lady."

"Get outta here!" Gail exclaimed. She looked at Cas. "We know her! Well, we've MET her, anyway."

She and Cas proceeded to tell Frank, Rob and Suzanne about the circumstances behind having met Michelle in New Orleans. What a weird coincidence. It was funny, too, because she'd had a crush on Dean, Gail said with a smile. "But he said he couldn't date her, because he was married. Yeah, he was – to me!"

Now it was Suzanne's turn to be shocked. "To YOU?" she exclaimed.

Gail was still smiling, although she felt sad now, too. What she wouldn't give to have a really fun argument with Dean right now. She sighed. "Sometime, when we don't have a few dozen life-threatening situations hanging over our heads, we'll have to set aside a few days to tell you everything you've missed," she said with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"So...never?" Suzanne ventured. Rob, Frank and Gail favoured her with a laugh.

"I think you're going to fit in very well around here," Gail said to the young woman. "OK, well, Cas and I are going to go home and pack. We'll come get you tomorrow morning," she added, looking at her brother.

"Tomorrow? Uhh...I need a bit of notice, kiddo," Frank said incredulously. "People who have jobs can't just take off from them whenever they want, you know."

Her face fell. She hadn't even thought of that. She and Cas exchanged looks again. They realized that, compared to many others, they had certain things pretty easy. They could come and go as they pleased, and they never had to worry about jobs, or money. Well, except for that one time, when they'd been on the run from Heaven. But even back then, she'd gotten a job on no references and no experience, and Cas had won money playing poker at the casino, and then he'd gotten the job on the Supernatural TV show.

"Ahhh, I'll take a leave of absence for a few days," Frank said quickly, seeing the dismayed look on his sister's face. He'd just been giving her a hard time. There was no way he was missing this. New Orleans, Mardi Gras, and the chance to hang out with Cas and Gail, and help Sam and Dean in the process? Maybe they could introduce him to this Michelle Delacroix lady, when they were there. Frank could tell her to smack her future husband upside the head, and tell him to smarten up. Suddenly, his expression brightened.

"Hey, maybe the President of France instituted that policy because it's the Fascist way to get things done!" Frank wisecracked. "Get it? The 'Fascist' way? Huh? Huh?"

Suzanne laughed dutifully, but Rob groaned, and Gail rolled her eyes. Cas didn't react at all. He was looking past the group, off into the distance. Gail recognized that look. "Har, har," she said to her brother, extending her hand to her husband to take. "We'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Aww, come on. That was funny," Frank protested with a half-shrug. But he wasn't too vociferous about it. You couldn't win them all.

The Angels winked out a moment later, and Frank picked up the newspaper again. He opened it to the page where the article about Benoit Levesque continued, but now, they were just mainly talking about the upcoming spring wedding. Whatever. They were a nice-looking couple, but Frank wished that Michelle woman luck with the guy. He tossed the paper back down on the table. Had Cas and Gail stayed just a minute longer, they would have recognized both of the people in the picture. Benoit Levesque, the President of France, was the former leader of the white supremacist terrorist organization Les Rebelles Blancs. The only survivor of the racist group that Cas and Gail and Sam and Dean had infiltrated in Paris before, when they had been on the Tablet quests. And he had also been one of the testers in Vincent's compound, and the Angels knew that he and Dr. Roarke had spirited away some of Vincent's "special" children for their own purposes, whatever those might be.

But Frank had never met Benoit. He and Jody had left France before that whole racist organization thing had arisen, and by the time Cas had brought them all to the compound for the rescue operation, Benoit and Dr. Roarke had already departed with the kids. Rob would know Benoit from the compound, of course, but Rob was a young man who didn't read newspapers, and he was in the bloom of young love. He and Suzanne were holding hands and making googly eyes at each other now. Frank swigged the rest of his coffee, picked up the newspaper section, and left the kitchen, shaking his head. Geez. Rob and his cute little girlfriend were gonna be smooching and making googly eyes in every room in this house, when Frank was gone. If Rob was smart, that was, he thought, smirking to himself.

Frank dropped the newspaper section in the blue bin by the door, on his way upstairs. He would have to remember to dump it tomorrow, before they left.

Gary had texted his sister that he was almost home. Could she unlock the door? He didn't want to fumble with the keys and run the risk of the neighbours seeing the blood on his clothes. Again. He was starting to run out of plausible excuses.

Bianca sighed, but she closed her eyes and visualized the bolt on the front door of their house sliding open, and the second lock turning to the left. She was in the bathtub with bubbles up to her neck, but it didn't matter. She'd always been able to open locked doors with her mind.

Gary. She was going to have to talk to her twin brother about his temper. Again. He was a sweetheart, but every now and then, his fuse would burn down and he would erupt at the slightest little provocation. All it would take was for a clerk to be snotty to him in a store, or somebody to bump into him with their bag on the bus, and then Gary would glare at them, and then they would start to bleed. Open wounds would form on the offender in an instant, and because Gary was usually standing close to the person, he would usually get some on him. Then the neighbours would see him coming home all bloody, and then he would have to make up some kind of excuse, so they wouldn't think he was some kind of serial killer, or something.

Bianca tossed the phone onto the bath mat. Lucky her hands had been dry; otherwise, her brother would have just had to suck it up. She heard the front door open and close, and then she heard him thumping his way down the hall. Wow. He must still be mad.

"I'm in the tub!" she called out. "Make yourself a drink, and I'll be out in a few minutes!"

Gary didn't respond. Bianca spent a glorious moment wondering what it would be like to have been an only child, and then she gave up on her bath. There was no serenity to be had when her brother got home after one of those types of incidents.

The doorknob started to turn slowly as Bianca was towelling off. "Just a second, Gary! God!" she exclaimed. For the umpteenth time, she made a mental note to ask her brother to put a lock on the bathroom door, so she could have a minute or two of privacy, once in a while. It wasn't like Gary to try to force the issue, though. He must be really upset this time.

"Keep your shirt on!" she yelled, grabbing her robe from the hook on the back of the door. But before she had the chance to put it on, the door burst open, knocking her backwards. Bianca was so startled that she lost her balance and fell to the floor.

The last thing Bianca saw before she died was a puff of green smoke, and the flash of the blade.

"Thank you for your help, Madame Marie," Alice said when she returned to the small house on the bayou that the witch was currently calling home.

"You're welcome, my dear," Marie replied. "So, they are both dead?"

"Yes," Alice confirmed. "I killed the girl first, and when her brother heard her scream, he rushed into the bathroom. The hex bag you gave me obscured his view long enough for me to eliminate him. I decapitated him, just to make sure."

As Marie Laveau nodded matter-of-factly, Alice pulled the list out of her pocket and crossed off the twins' names. With Gary and Bianca's deaths, the number was down to 19.

Alice was very glad she had aligned herself with Madame Laveau. The woman had a formidable array of magical spells, and she was just as motivated as Alice when it came to the extermination of Vincent's children.

"Where will you go next?" the ancient witch asked Eric's adoptive mother.

Alice had been wondering that, herself. Now that the numbers were dwindling, she had to face the fact: the remaining offspring would be increasingly more difficult to kill, the further down the list she got. There were the eight of them in France, under the government's protection. The information she had on their powers was spotty at best, but Alice knew that she had better proceed very, very cautiously when it came to dispatching that group. She had been putting it off, because the prospect was so daunting. Even if she received a little help from the occult arts from time to time.

But, what was the alternative? She had already been foiled in her attempt to kill Rob, and Alice still had no idea how she could even begin to think about eliminating the Angel Gail.

If she did the math, Alice realized that she would only have nine more people left on her list if she should somehow be successful in getting rid of the Paris 8, Eric's brother Rob, and Gail. Nine. That seemed like a very manageable number. She had no idea that there was a boy named Damien in the mix, who might be the hardest one of all.

"I think it'll be Paris," Alice told the witch now. "There will be a state wedding there in April. It's the best opportunity I can forsee to have all eight gathered in the same place, at the same time. I've been in touch with a munitions expert, who's going to help me by suggesting some explosive devices. Now that my business here is concluded, I'll fly overseas and do some recon on the venues for the wedding, the parade route, and the reception. Then, depending on what I find, I should be able to get the supplies I need from one of my advisor's contacts overseas."

"Your business here may not yet be concluded," Marie told the woman. "While you were gone, I had a visit from an old associate of mine. It just so happens that the Angel Gail will be here within the next couple of days, travelling with her human brother Frank, and her husband Castiel. He is an Angel of considerable power and influence in Heaven, and so is Gail. But if I can arrange to have her come here alone, I believe I can incapacitate her long enough for you to eliminate her. She will have her Angel blade with her, so you can use that."

Alice was surprised. Vincent's daughter was coming here? Why? Was it possible? Could she really be placed in a position that was vulnerable enough for long enough to be killed?

"If you can incapacitate her, then why could YOU not kill her, Madame?" Alice asked the witch warily.

"Do you want my help, or not?" Marie inquired sharply.

"Yes, but - "

"Then, do not ask. I have my reasons," Madame Laveau said coldly. "You may stay here in the spare room, until the task is done. Are we agreed?"

"Yes, we're agreed," Alice said quickly. Like the Paris 8, as she had taken to calling them, there would not be a better opportunity.

"Oh, look! There's a restaurant that's named after you," Frank wisecracked to his sister. "Let's stop there and eat. OK, well, I guess I'll be the one who's eating. You guys will just be watching."

Gail looked at the sign on the roadside restaurant as Cas pulled the car into the parking lot. There was a giant dinosaur head on a neon sign that read: "T-Rex Bistro".

"Oh, har, har. Very funny," Gail said to her brother, making a face. The men liked to tease her by saying that she had short, little T-Rex arms, and she always retorted that it was easy for men who were twelve feet tall with limbs to match to say that, wasn't it? Thinking of the gibe made her smile, but it also made her sad. The last time she'd been here on the outskirts of New Orleans, it had been with Sam and Dean. But, on the bright side, it had been ages since she'd travelled anywhere with Frank. And best of all, this time Cas was here with her, and they could hold hands and kiss all they wanted.

The Angels snuggled together on one side of the booth while Frank perused a menu. "Boy, they weren't kidding about the T-Rex thing," Gail's brother commented. "I think I'm gonna get the Carnivorous Special. Rob isn't here to warn me about all the cholesterol. Now he's got Suzanne doing it, too. Geez, I don't know where I went wrong with that kid." He regarded Gail with narrowed eyes. "You're not gonna start in on me about that stuff, are you?"

"Nope," she said pertly. "It's none of my business what you eat. If you want to have a heart attack and go to Heaven, I'm sure Bobby can set you up in a nice little cubicle, somewhere."

Her brother eyed her balefully. "You used to be nicer," he said.

"Really? Are you sure about that?" she joked, and the siblings smiled at each other.

Cas was used to this kind of thing from them by now. He was looking around the restaurant at the decorations: caveman mannequins with clubs, and plastic dinosaurs with big teeth. His lips twitched. They had the herbivores grouped together with the carnivores, menacing the cavemen. That would never have happened, of course, but he understood that they were going for entertainment here, not realism.

"See anybody you know, Cas?" Frank wisecracked.

Frank placed his order, and while he was waiting for his food, he and Gail were chatting about Rob and Suzanne. "How serious are they?" Gail wanted to know.

Her brother thought for a moment. "Put it this way," he said, "I wouldn't be surprised if they moved in together, soon."

"They're THAT serious?" she inquired, smiling.

Frank shrugged. "Hey, when you know, you know. How long did it take for you and Cas to know?"

"How long is a millisecond?" Cas said, taking Gail's hand. He kissed it tenderly. "How long is the blink of an eye?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "How long till my lunch gets here?" he countered. "And how long before I throw it back up again, if you keep that up?"

"Oh, come on," Gail protested. "You just finished telling me that Rob and Suzanne are pretty much the same way."

"True, but you and Cas are the King and Queen," her brother retorted.

"Long may we reign," Cas said lightly, and Gail laughed.

Once they'd left the restaurant, it was just a couple more hours until they got to their hotel in New Orleans. Cas had taken care of the reservations himself, and as a result, they were staying at an older, higher-end establishment in the French Quarter.

"Wow. Nice digs," Frank said, looking around at the elegantly furnished lobby. "Do you guys always stay at places like this?"

"Whenever possible, yes," Cas replied calmly. "Sam tends to look for more...conservatively-priced accommodations. Dean, also. I've been trying to encourage them to upgrade their point of view."

Frank smiled wryly. "Well, Cas, old habits die hard. I know exactly what they're thinking: do we have enough to get a roof over our heads, gas up the car, AND get something to eat? I used to have to worry about that kind of stuff all the time."

"But you don't any more, Frank, and you never will," Cas said firmly.

Gail's brother clapped him on the shoulder. That was thanks to Cas, he acknowledged. It was the same with Sam and Dean, and Rob, and all of their human friends. Cas had given all of them generous nest eggs when he had been God. None of them would ever have to worry about making ends meet or going hungry again. He wished the Winchesters would have thought about that before going off on Cas like they had. From what Gail's brother could see, it was tearing Cas up to be apart from them under these circumstances. Gail, too. He didn't know why they would doubt their best friend's word. As if Cas would kill Sam's kid, or any kid, for that matter. If Cas said that Damien was the Beast of the Apocalypse, he was the Beast of the damn Apocalypse. Case closed. End of story. Just because something was unbelieveable didn't mean you shouldn't believe it. Look at the kind of lives they all led. They were in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, not for the booze and beads and parades, but to talk to an ancient witch about borrowing a mythical sword that would break a poisonous spell cast by a Demon who should be dead in order to rescue Frank's best friends from dying of old age in their fourties. Yeah; believability was hardly the issue, here. Gail's brother knew who he could trust, and he trusted Cas implicitly. The man had proven himself as a stand-up guy, time and time again. The Beast was apparently working some kind of a hypnotic spell on the Winchesters, or else they would realize that, too. All Frank knew was that they'd better get this situation resolved as soon as possible. This rift they had going on in the family right now wasn't doing anybody any good.

Cas had booked a suite for himself and Gail, so that they would have an extra room in which to receive guests. Rowena arrived as promised, an hour after they all checked in.

Frank was sitting in one of the armchairs having a drink when the redheaded witch entered the sitting room. The two of them eyed each other for a moment. Neither of them quite knew what to say. The last time they'd seen each other was when Frank had stabbed Rowena in the chest on that beach in the Caribbean, and the group had left her for dead, there.

Like Bobby and everyone else in their circle, Frank wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see Rowena alive and well now. He had to hand it to her: she was certainly a survivor. She had that trait in common with all of the current occupants of the room. They had all been killed at least once, at some point; yet, all of them were here now. Frank felt a wave of resentment. How was someone like Rowena able to walk around on the planet, when somebody good and loving like Jody was not? Whoever was in charge of these things sure had their priorities screwed up.

Not that Frank was going to let that get in the way of a good quip, though. "Somebody needs to write a new song for those munchkins to sing," he said, lifting his beer bottle to Rowena in a sarcastic salute. "'Ding dong, I guess we were wrong'."

Gail's lips twitched furiously as the witch approached Frank, moving slowly and cautiously. Rowena had been less than thrilled, to say the least, when she had learned that Frank was going to be here. Still, she supposed she could understand it, in a way. Usually, both Sam and Dean accompanied the Angels on these types of excursions. Besides being experienced Hunters with considerable skills, they provided Castiel with the extra sense of security he needed, in helping to keep Gail safe. Not that Rowena's daughter necessarily needed it: Gail could more than hold her own these days, when it came to fighting just about any entity there was. That was why the witch was certain enough to make the proposal she was about to make. Whether the men would agree was another matter entirely.

"Have you spoken to her?" Cas asked the witch. "Will she lend us the sword?"

"She was agreeable, yes," Rowena said softly. "But only under one condition: that Gail comes with me to get it." Rowena's stomach clenched in anticipation of the eruption she was sure would commence as she added: "ONLY Gail."

There was silence for a moment, and then Frank piped up: "I'll tell the jokes around here, lady."

"I'm not joking," the witch insisted. "Marie is very reluctant to meet with men such as yourselves. The last time she saw Hunters, it was those Winchesters, and they tried to kill her. Sound familiar?" she added tartly, fixing Gail's brother with a baleful glare.

Frank shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. "Hey, it's what we do. I'm not going to apologize for that," he remarked. "Bobby said you wanted to help us. He said you wanted to bury the olive branch, or extend the hatchet, or whatever the hell it was that he said. I wasn't really listening. So, fine. I respect Bobby, so I'm willing to play ball. But if you think my sister is going anywhere with you, without me and Cas, you're nuts."

Gail's brother looked at Cas for confirmation. As if he needed it. Rowena had better get ready, because Cas was going to tear her a new one.

But, somewhat surprisingly, it was Gail who spoke up, first: "No. I won't be doing that," she said firmly.

Rowena's mouth dropped open with surprise. "No? What do you mean, no? Whyever not?"

"Why does she want me alone?" Gail countered with.

"I just told you," Rowena replied.

Gail was shaking her head. "No, I don't believe that," she stated. "It sounds fishy to me. It sounds like a made-up excuse. You're a witch, but here you are, standing with three people who have wanted to kill you, in the past. Two of us succeeded! No; it sounds like she wants to get me somewhere alone, without protection. That's not going to happen."

Cas looked at his wife admiringly. He had been a little afraid that he might have to dissuade her from agreeing to do it. They all wanted the sword very badly, but the risk was simply not worth it. He was glad that Gail realized that.

The redheaded witch nodded. The objection was understandable, though it had not come from the source she had expected it to come from. But now, they had a problem. Madame Marie was extremely stubborn when she had her mind set on something, and Rowena knew that Gail could be the same way. Still, she tried again.

"I would be there with you, the whole time," the witch assured Gail. "She means you no harm; I promise you that. Marie and I used to be partners."

"Just as you were 'partners' with the Demon, Abbadon?" Cas asked her sharply.

Rowena let out a frustrated breath. "Surely, ye canna' hold that against me?" she said, tight-lipped. Her brogue was thicker now, the way it always was when she got emotional about something. Abbadon's betrayal had been completely unexpected, and it had hurt Rowena more than she was willing to let on. "I believed that she was my friend! She and I had an understanding. I taught her many of my ancient spells, and now, she has used one of them to betray me, by partnering with Vincent."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you trust the wrong people," Frank said dispassionately. Give him a break. If Rowena expected them to feel sorry for her, she was barking up the wrong tree. "Friends, with a Demon? Right. 'Partnership'? Where I come from, they call that a coven."

"I wouldn't expect ye to understand," Rowena said stiffly. "And may I remind you that you used to be a Demon, as well?"

"OK, OK, let's not let this deteriorate into name-calling," Gail said in a reasonable tone. "You both raise some good points. The bottom line is, we all hate Vincent, here. So, with that in mind, can't you appeal to Marie on our behalf?" she asked the witch. "If she's being straight with us, there's no reason we can't all meet. Maybe you can tell her how bad Vincent is, if you haven't, already."

Rowena smiled inwardly. She had considered telling this lot that, in fact, Marie already knew Vincent. Why did they think Marie had been so willing to loan them their precious sword, in the first place? But she'd decided against it, because bringing up her and Marie's past association with the man would only serve to emphasize Rowena's duplicitous nature. That was hardly something she wanted to call their attention to right now, given the circumstances. She had known full well how Marie had felt towards Vincent, yet Rowena had had sex with him at the Solstice, anyway. She had paid the price for that particular transaction, though. One of the products of that assignation was standing before her, and the other was sitting on the throne in Hell. Fergus and Rowena's relationship was beyond redemption, but what of the witch's relationship with her daughter?

She looked at Gail. "You know, I could be of great help to you, going forward. So could Marie. I know you have the aptitude, Gail. You were able to perform the most complex spell in existence, when you brought Dean Winchester back from the dead. I would be happy to pass down my knowledge, and my expertise. Had Vincent not stolen you from me and left Fergus behind, instead of the other way around, I could have taught you everything."

"That's enough," Cas snapped. "You are not here to persuade Gail to be a witch."

"Why do you deny my daughter her heritage?" Rowena said angrily.

"Her heritage?" Cas shot back. "Her heritage is of no consequence! She's managed to become a good and loving person, despite it."

"Typical," the witch fumed. "Why do you assume that your way is the only way? Not all magic is bad, you know. You came here to get a magical object that will save your friends from death."

"Which would not be necessary, had your 'partner' not used dark magic to curse them in the first place," Cas said pointedly.

Frank licked his finger and made a motion in the air, chalking up a point for Cas on that one. But Gail was becoming extremely annoyed now. "You know, if the two of them are just going to stand there and talk about me like I'm not even in the room, then maybe you and me should go get a drink, somewhere," she said to her brother.

He grinned. "And miss the floor show? Not on your life."

Gail looked at Cas. "I understand where you're coming from, sweetie, but you've got to let me speak for myself, OK?"

Cas's lips tightened a bit, but he realized that she was right. In his eagerness to protect her, and to keep her from getting hurt by yet another so-called parental figure, he had taken charge. Gail had to be afforded the opportunity to stand up for herself, though. Cas knew that. Of course he did. In the years they'd been together, he had witnessed his wife blossom into a strong, capable woman. It was not his intention to take that away from her. "I'm sorry, my darling," he said softly, and Gail touched his face in appreciation.

Then she turned to Rowena. "And as far as what you said, I'll decide for myself what my 'heritage' is. Not you, not anyone else. Look, I get how much your magic means to you. I really do. And I'll admit there have been times when I've been grateful to have it. Being able to revive Dean was a prime example. But I've also seen a lot of bad things come from it, too. That spell book is dynamite in the wrong hands. Aurielle used it against us, and so did Becky. Vincent used it to age Damien, and look at the mess we're in, now! So, no thanks. I'm good. But, we do appreciate you helping us the way you are. I just wanted you to know that."

The redheaded witch sighed, but she supposed that she couldn't have expected differently. Maybe she should let some time pass by. They were not used to treating Rowena as an ally, after all. If she could show them that she meant only to help, with no hidden agenda, perhaps they could revisit the subject in the future.

"I will speak to Marie," she told the trio. "I'll tell her that none of you will do her harm, if she promises the same." Rowena looked at Frank. "I'm going out on a limb for you lot, here. Please keep that in mind."

"We will," Cas said soberly. Despite his feelings towards the ancient witch, he understood the sort of risk she was taking. Had Rowena not been a pagan, she might have called it a leap of faith. He smiled to himself, wondering if Frank would find that amusing.

Then Rowena took her leave, informing Cas that she would call him once she met with Madame Laveau. Having nothing else to do but wait, Frank fixed himself another drink and switched on the TV, making himself at home. Cas and Gail exchanged a glance, and then they sat together on the couch as Frank flipped the remote from channel to channel.

The local news came on. "Oh, good. Let's see what's happening, here," Gail's brother said, putting the remote down.

The lead story was a quick update on the Mardi Gras festivities, and then the anchorwoman said, "On a more serious note, the bodies of Gary and Bianca Logan were found in their residence on Orchard Street. So far, the police haven't released very many details, but our correspondent, Phillip Zielinski, spoke to one of the neighbours at the scene."

The image switched to that of a middle-aged man with a terrible comb-over holding a microphone in front of a woman.

"Who put that dead squirrel on that poor guy's head?" Frank said, making Gail laugh.

The woman was talking about her neighbours. They were brother and sister, and they'd both seemed really nice. But every now and then, they would see Gary coming down the street with what looked like blood on him. Then, tonight, they'd heard a scream coming from inside the house, and a woman they didn't recognize came rushing out of the house, a few minutes later.

The reporter asked the witness if she could tell him what the woman looked like, and she said, "I can do better than that. I got a picture of her, on my cell phone." The woman took the phone out of her pocket and showed it to Zielinski, and he motioned to the cameraman to get a close-up of the screen as she turned the phone around in her hand.

"Is this the face of a murderer?" the reporter said dramatically.

The three occupants of the hotel room gaped at the TV. "You're damn right it is!" Frank shouted.

They talked about the subject for a while, until they reached a consensus: Now, their mission here was twofold, Cas announced. The priority was still getting the sword, because time was of the essence when it came to breaking the spell on Sam and Dean. But if they could find Alice, as well...

Rowena had called Cas and said that Marie was thinking it over. His former partner wasn't thrilled about the fact that Gail refused to go to the meeting alone, without the men. Rowena was going to try to convince the Creole witch to take the meeting anyway, but Marie was headstrong, so it would probably take a while.

Fortunately, that suited their purposes, now. It was decided that the three of them would go to the police station the next day, and try to see if they could get any information on Alice's whereabouts.

It was strange, dressing up in their fake FBI attire without Sam and Dean. They all still had the badges they'd used before, but there was a slight problem: even though Cas and Gail's appearances had of course remained the same, Frank's had not.

Gail had teased her brother about that, and he'd made a face. "Hey, YOU try to raise kids and work with a bunch of corporate stooges, and see if you don't look older," he'd groused. Then, when her smile widened, he added, "You know what I mean."

She poked him in the stomach. "A few lines on your face and a couple of grey hairs, I can see. But, what's up with this? You'd better keep your jacket closed, 'cause it looks like some of those buttons are about to pop right off. If you get arrested for assaulting a police officer, you'll have to pay us back for the bail money."

"Put that thing away," Frank grumbled, swatting at her poking finger. "Geez, Cas. Does she do that to you, too?"

"Pardon me?" Cas said to his brother-in-law. He hadn't really been paying attention to the siblings.

"Never mind, Mister GQ Magazine," Frank said, rolling his eyes. Must be nice, he thought. Cas would never go grey or lose his hair, and he would never get thick around the middle.

"Thank you, Frank," Cas said, pleased by the compliment. If he detected any sarcasm, he chose to ignore it.

"Maybe we should just lose that," Gail said to her brother, grabbing the FBI ID from him and tossing it on the table. "They're going to get suspicious if you can't show them a more recent picture."

He shrugged. "Sure, I don't care. You guys have your credentials. They probably won't question us too much. I'll just tell them that Human Resources messed up, and I'm still waiting for my new badge. That usually works at City Hall."

"You can be Detective Drebbin," Gail said with a smile, nudging him.

Frank laughed. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered, or insulted," he remarked.

Cas was puzzled. "I don't understand that reference," he told them.

Gail's brother was open-mouthed with astonishment. "Do you mean to tell me that you've never seen those Naked Gun movies?" Frank looked down at his sister. "You should be ashamed of yourself, depriving your husband of such quality entertainment."

"But...how can a gun be considered to be naked? Weapons don't wear clothing," Cas said, still trying to figure out what Frank was talking about.

Gail shook her head, but she was smiling. "Never mind, sweetie. We haven't got the time to get into that, right now. I'll tell you what: when we get Sam and Dean back, we'll have a movie marathon."

Frank's grin faded a little. Right. Sam and Dean. "It's a date," he said firmly.

The trio were sitting in Lieutenant Charles St. Louis' office a few minutes later. Cas had popped his wife and brother-in-law over to the station. Gail had already been there before, of course, when she and the Winchesters had been working that case with those sudden deaths in the Delacroix family. In that instance, the deaths had turned out to have been caused by humans, trying to get revenge. In this case, the three of them were pretty sure they knew exactly what was going on, but as the Lieutenant disclosed more details on the case of the Logan siblings, the more their dread grew.

"We have a BOLO out to all of our officers, but to be honest, this is the worst time of year to be looking for a suspect who we've never had any dealings with, before. Mardi Gras brings hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world, many of them in costumes, and masks. With those kinds of crowds, it will be difficult for us to find one woman. That's if she's still in town, of course. She might be anywhere, by now."

Cas was frowning. "Can we see the crime scene photos, please?"

The Lieutenant slid the file across the desk. Wow, Gail thought. She'd seen a lot of gruesome sights in her time as an Angel. Hell, she'd been involved in a lot of them. But to see the two young people, brother and sister, laying there, with so much blood on the floor and the walls...she glanced at Frank, feeling more than a little sick to her stomach.

"Why is the sink green?" Frank said suddenly.

Cas and Gail peered closer. "See?" Frank said, pointing. "The basin is your regular white enamel, but look here, on the underside. It's green."

"You're right. I hadn't even noticed that," Cas remarked.

"Very observant, Detective Drebbin," St. Louis said as Frank's lips twitched. "We took some swabs of the substance, but we're pretty sure it came from a gris-gris bag. If you'll look at the photo underneath that one, you'll see what appears to be the remnants of the bag beside the female vic's leg."

"A what-what bag?" Frank said, his forehead wrinkling.

"A hex bag," Gail said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "That's what they call them, in the voodoo culture."

"You know about voodoo?" the Officer asked her, surprised.

"We've had some dealings with it, yes," Gail responded, using a professional tone.

"Well then, you probably know that the green powder is unique," the Lieutenant remarked matter-of-factly. "No other practitioner has ever used that particular colour, before, or since. Whoever committed these murders was sending a very specific message. It's been a while since we've seen a copycat killer who's had the nerve to use Madame Laveau's method of intimidation, though. Most locals are still too superstitious to mess with her legend, even after all this time. Makes me believe the perp is from out of town. If the woman that the eyewitness saw is our killer, that is."

"What do you mean, 'if'?" Frank asked the man, perhaps more sharply than he'd intended. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. What WAS it about this Laveau woman? Now, he was really glad that Gail hadn't gone to meet her alone.

So was Cas, and it was also dawning on him now that, in a way, the revelation should not have surprised him. When Alice had used that gris-gris bag to escape her house after murdering Eric, she had spoken the incantation in a sort of bastardized French language, which Gail had advised was Creole. Now, it was all starting to make perfect sense: why Alice had been so successful in her systematic killing of Vincent's children, and why she had remained undetected for so long. Alice was receiving occult assistance from none other than Marie Laveau, herself. Cas agreed with Gail that it was highly unusual for Sam and Dean to have made a mistake like they had in leaving the ancient witch alive, but that was obviously what had happened.

Cas suddenly got to his feet, prompting startled glances from Frank and Gail. "Thank you for your assistance," he said to the Lieutenant. "We'll be in touch." He turned and walked out of the room, trusting that the others would follow.

They did, but as soon as they were out in the corridor, Frank wheeled on Cas. "OK, what the hell was that?" he wanted to know.

Cas was unperturbed. "We've received all the information he had to give. The longer we stayed, the more we risked exposure as impostors. We all know that this is not a police matter, anyway. But now, we have a dilemma: we need to receive that sword from Madame Laveau, but we also have to find out for certain if she's aiding and abetting Alice." He looked at Gail. "Which means, you will not be going anywhere near her. When Rowena calls me next, I'll tell her that I will meet with Madame Laveau. You and Frank will remain at the hotel."

Both brother and sister opened their mouths to speak, but before they had the chance, a different voice spoke, first:

"Cas and Gail, right?" Michelle Delacroix said, approaching the trio.

The Angels smiled. "How are you? What are you doing here?" Michelle asked them. She glanced at Frank. "This one, I don't know. Where are Sam, and 'not-Jeff'?"

"I'm Frank," Gail's brother said, open-mouthed. "Hey, I know you. You're the lady who's marrying the President of France. You're in all the papers."

"Don't mind my brother," Gail said to Michelle, elbowing Frank.

"It's OK, I've kind of gotten used to it," Michelle said, smiling at the Angel. "Whenever I go to France, the people there treat me like I'm Lady Di, or something. So, what ARE you doing here, anyway?" She lowered her voice. "Are you an Angel, too?" she asked Frank.

He laughed. "Not even close. We were trying to get some information on a local murder case. I'm 'Detective Drebbin'."

"Really?" Michelle said. She was highly amused. "Detective Frank Drebbin?" She struck a pose. "'Is this some kind of bust?'"

"'Yes, it's very impressive'," Frank deadpanned, not missing a beat.

The two of them laughed, and Gail grinned, both at the quotes from the movie franchise and at the confused expression on Cas's face. She would definitely have to schedule that movie marathon, as soon as things settled down. Maybe throw on those Airplane movies, while they were at it. They would all be able to use a good laugh by then.

"I like you," Frank said to Michelle. "You seem pretty OK, for a rich lady."

She was still smiling. "If the three of you aren't too busy with your case, why don't you stop by the festival? I'm in charge of the whole thing. I can arrange a great vantage point for you guys to see tonight's Druid Day parade. Hell, you can be IN the parade, if you want. Anything, for the people who saved my life. Are Sam and Dean here, too? They're welcome to come along."

"I'm afraid they're not here this time," Cas told her. But he was lost in thought, now. Rowena had mentioned something about the Druid festivities, in connection with the sword.

"That's too bad," Michelle remarked. "Still, you should come. Well, that is, if a pagan parade wouldn't offend you," she added, looking at the Angels. Her lips twitched. "Believe me, it's not nearly as risque as some of the nighttime parades are. The people on the floats wear full robes, because they're supposed to be monks. Of course, some of them strip, but hey, it is Mardi Gras, after all." Her expression brightened. "I just had a great idea. If the three of you don't mind, I could use the extra security for the Balisarda float."

"Balisarda?" Gail blurted out. That was the name of the sword they were hoping to borrow!

Ms. Delacroix looked at her. "That's the name of a mythical French sword. It was rumoured to be in Marie Laveau's possession when she died, but it was never recovered. We have a replica of it in the parade, but it seems like every year, some drunken yahoo tries to rush the float and steal it. We announce it as a replica, but that doesn't stop them from trying. If you're agreeable, maybe the three of you could ride on the float, and provide extra security. It may be a replica, but it's on loan from the museum, and I assured them they'd get it back in one piece."

The trio exchanged glances. Interesting. If Cas could arrange the meeting with Rowena, maybe they could switch out the real sword for the replica, if things didn't go well. Also, if the three of them were wearing full robes with cowls, it would be easy enough for Cas to pop in and out of the venue pretty much in plain sight, without anyone noticing.

"We'll be happy to help you," he told Michelle.

"Great!" she enthused. "Where are you staying? I'll have a town car pick you up, later." She put Cas's cell number in the Contacts on her own cell phone. "I'll see you tonight," Michelle added. "Oh, and when I do, I'll have wedding invitations for all of you. I really hope you can make it. Sam and Dean, too. Maybe I'll tell Ben that Dean and I had a 'thing'. Apparently, he was quite a playboy, before we met. You're invited too, Detective Drebbin. Assuming you can tear yourself away from 'Police Squad' long enough, that is."

Frank laughed, and Gail said, "I can't believe you're going to be the First Lady of France. That's so cool."

"It'll certainly be different," Michelle said, nodding. "But I told Benoit I'm not going to be some so-called 'trophy wife'. I really want to help him make France a better place to live. He's already done that, by eliminating the terrorist threat."

Frank was biting his tongue now. Yeah, but at what cost? But now that he'd met the woman, he didn't want to confront her about her fiance's politics. Michelle seemed like an intelligent woman; there was probably a lot more to the situation than they were reporting in the paper.

"Let me show you our engagement photo," Michelle said proudly, scrolling through her phone. "Oh, and best of all, I get an instant kid, out of the deal. No late-life pregnancy, no labour pains. Benoit adopted Gerard, a few years ago. Oh, here it is. Finally. How good-looking are these men of mine?"

She showed the photo on her phone to the three of them. Frank had already seen Benoit's picture in the paper, but he was kind of relieved to see that the guy's adopted son was black. He couldn't be too much of a Nazi, then.

But Cas's eyes narrowed, and Gail's heart skipped a beat. Michelle was engaged to the former leader of Les Rebelles Blancs, the worst white supremacist organization France had ever seen, and he was the President of his country, now? And the young boy in his arms in the photo was Jerry, Vincent's son! Gail recognized the child from the compound. He had tested through the roof when it had come to telekinetic abilities, but he'd had poor impulse control. And what about the others? Were they working for Benoit, in some capacity? Was Dr. Roarke still there, too? The Angels looked at each other, alarmed, remembering what Frank had said about the alleged racial profiling that was going on in the country. Well, it seemed that it wasn't so alleged after all, was it?

Cas pressed his lips together so tightly that they almost disappeared. Benoit Levesque had been over there in France, slowly turning the country into a modern version of Nazi Germany, and they'd had no idea. Absolutely none.

Gail was thinking the same thing. What the hell? What was actually happening, all of a sudden? The Beast of the Apocalypse, Vincent, Abbadon, Marie Laveau, Eric's killer mom, and now Benoit, the evil Nazi they'd had the misfortune to meet in Paris. Not to mention Dr. Roarke, who had drugged Cas to the point of insanity, and who Gail had once spitefully nicknamed "Mengele". Oh, and Vincent's "special" progeny, too. If they had a moment when there wasn't yet another evil entity jumping out from behind a bush, she would have to check the Master List she'd compiled of which of Vincent's sires might be in Paris, doing God only knew what for the new Reich.

But the list was in the bunker, which was covered with the poison ivy they needed the enchanted sword to cut, so that Sam and Dean wouldn't die of old age before St. Patrick's Day. Everything else, as horrifying as it was, would have to wait.

They told Michelle they would see her later, at the parade.

Rowena and Marie had talked and talked, and then they had talked some more. But they were at an impasse now, and both time and tempers were running short. Marie had refused to budge. She would lend the sword to Gail, and Gail alone. The Angels should be grateful she was even willing to do that much. In case they had forgotten, the last time she had seen Marie, Gail's Hunter friends had attempted to end Madame Laveau's life. Surely Rowena could understand why her former partner wanted nothing to do with the men in Gail's life.

Rowena did, but now, Castiel was pushing back, insisting that HE would come to the meeting, not Gail. Then Marie had retorted that he should not bother, because she would not even consider handing the sword to anyone but Gail.

They were driving Rowena crazy. Neither of them would budge, and she knew that soon, Marie would just tell them to forget the whole thing. The only reason the Creole witch was inclined to grant them this favour in the first place was because Castiel had dispatched Valentina's murderer, Marie had said, enabling their young protegee to move on. But the handover had to be made on her terms, or not at all. It was up to the Angels: how badly did they want the sword? The offer was only going to be open tonight. After that, it was going to be withdrawn, and their Hunter friends could die, for all Marie cared.

Rowena bit her lip. She knew that Marie meant what she was saying, too. "I will have Gail here shortly," she told her former partner, and then she disappeared.

Marie waited a moment, and then she called out to Alice, who had been hiding in the spare room: "Prepare the séance room, as I have instructed."

Rowena had advised Cas that she would meet them along the parade route, once she had convinced Mama Marie to let him come. They would be riding on the lead float, wearing full robes. There was an enclosure in the centre of the float where the "Druid monks" could go inside, to get the beads and glowing bracelets that they would toss out to the crowd. Cas had told Rowena that they could go in there when she arrived, and she could take him to the location. He would have his Angel blade with him, he'd said, but she had his word that it would remain in his pocket, unless he was being set up.

In a way, he was, but not in the way he would have thought. Rowena had decided that she was going to do whatever it took to get that sword for them. They would thank her, later.

Frank, Cas and Gail were talking to Michelle at the start of the parade route, waiting for the sun to set.

They had made a tacit agreement to put any discussion of Benoit on the back burner for now. The wedding was scheduled for April, and this was only the end of February. They had to take care of the more urgent business, first.

So Frank was joking around, trying to get rid of some nervous energy. "You know, I was really disappointed I didn't get a baby in my King Cake," he said to Michelle. "You got any pull in that area?"

She smiled. "Sorry. I hate to tell you this, but they don't put babies in the cakes, any more. I guess someone finally decided that it sent a bad message." Her smile widened. "So now, we just toss them from the floats."

Frank held his hands up. "OK, so, let me get this straight: It's not okay to eat cakes with babies in them any more, but it's OK to just fling them all over the place?" he said incredulously.

Michelle was grinning now. "Welcome to Mardi Gras."

"Is it true that girls flash their bare breasts to get beads, or is that just exaggerated?" Gail wanted to know.

"That's exaggerated, but I'm not going to say it doesn't happen," Michelle replied.

Cas looked stricken, and Frank laughed. "Don't worry, Bro, I've got your back," he said. "I'll stand in front of you, and take the hit."

"Of course, when you get to be my age, they toss the beads just so you'll keep your top ON," Michelle quipped.

Frank laughed again. Boy, he liked this woman. It was really a shame that she was marrying Hitler, 2.0. Or maybe she would decide not to, after Cas and Gail got done telling her who the guy really was.

The parade coordinator approached Michelle a few minutes later, telling her that they were ready to roll on her signal. Frank, Cas and Gail donned their robes and climbed onto the float, and Michelle gave the go-ahead for the parade to begin, letting them know that she would see them at the end of the parade route.

None of them had ever seen anything like it. The streets were lined with what must be thousands of people, all dressed in colourful clothing. The music was loud and upbeat, and the crowd were yelling at the top of their lungs, exhorting the "Druids" to throw prizes their way.

"Geez, we'd better go inside and get those people some beads and babies, before they tear us apart," Frank shouted to his companions. He paused for a moment. "Now, there's a sentence I never thought I would hear myself say."

Gail laughed, but she wasn't sure whether he could even hear her, with all the noise. But now, she was feeling a little sad again. Sam and Dean should be here, too. Sam would be giving them some background information on the Druids, and Dean would be elbowing his younger brother, telling him nobody cared. Then Dean would urge everybody to drink up, and he would crack up laughing, watching Cas trying to avert his eyes from all the bare boobs that the drunken young women would be flashing along the parade route.

Cas was preoccupied now. He told Gail over their frequency that, as soon as she and Frank provided him with the distraction of throwing their prizes to the crowd, he was going to take the replica of the sword inside the compartment, and hide it under his robe. And then, when Rowena got here, the two of them would go to see Marie Laveau. The most important goal was to get the real sword, but Cas intended to question her about Alice, as well. Depending on how that went, he would figure out how to proceed from there. If Marie refused to give him the sword, Cas could opt to switch out the replica of the word for the real one, and then leave. Either that, or he could just kill her, and take it. And if Rowena sided with Marie, Cas would have no problem killing her, as well. This was her chance to prove what she had been saying. If Rowena double-crossed them one more time, she was done.

Gail was concerned about that whole thing. How she wished that she and Frank could be there with Cas, providing him with backup. She realized how silly that sounded, of course. The Angel Castiel had prodigious powers, and he had gotten along quite well before Gail and Frank had come into his sphere of existence. Having said that, the night she had met Cas at the bunker, he had been dangerously low on his Grace. But the reasons for that had been complicated, involving an entire series of events that was not likely to ever be repeated. Cas could hold his own against a couple of witches, she was sure. But, like Cas, Gail was looking upon this situation as the litmus test of Rowena's true intentions. She hoped that the witch was sincere in her alleged desire to help them, if only for the reason that they would have one less enemy then, going forward. Didn't they already have more than their share of those? Besides, Gail was of the opinion that Rowena and her magic might be a lot more useful to them in the future than Cas seemed to think. If they could trust her, that was. If.

"Hey, check it out," Frank said loudly, breaking into his sister's reverie. As they got further along on the parade route, they were starting to see a wide variety of people. There were young people, older tourists, people dancing, men in drag, and young ladies in various states of dress. Or undress, in many cases. Wow. This was definitely a new experience.

"Sorry, fella. No passengers allowed," Frank said, standing in front of a person wearing a bright red curly wig, who was trying to clamber onto the slow-moving float.

"It's me, ya daft dobber," Rowena protested irritably, using a Scottish term for "fool".

Gail's brother grinned. He'd known that it was her, of course. Hey, just because she was here, and supposedly helping, that didn't mean that Frank wasn't gonna give her a hard time. Finally, he reached down and took her arm, boosting her up onto the float.

"Where's Castiel?" Rowena asked the siblings.

"He's inside," Gail said, gesturing to the compartment. "The two of you can pop out from there."

"Better go with her, and get some of that stuff for us to toss out there," Frank said to Gail. "The natives are restless." The crowd was getting even more boisterous now, screaming and reaching out to the floats.

Gail nodded. They were supposed to provide a distraction anyway, so that nobody would notice they were down a monk, and a sword. She motioned to Rowena, and they both entered the compartment.

Cas already had the replica sword concealed under his robe. He gave Rowena a brief nod of acknowledgement. "We'll be back as soon as possible, my love," he said to Gail.

But Rowena seized Gail by the arm. "I'm sorry, Castiel. I promise you that no harm will come to her," the witch said. And then, the women were gone.

VIGNETTE – GOOD GIRLS LIE

Gail wrenched her arm away from Rowena's grasp the instant they appeared at Marie's.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked the witch angrily.

"Helping to save your friends, that's what," Rowena retorted. "Marie said that she would give the sword only to you, not Castiel. He was being obstinate about it, so I made a judgement call. You need that sword, or the Winchesters will die."

Gail let out a frustrated breath. Dammit! Cas was going to be flipping out. Frank, too. But Rowena had a point: if Marie was going to refuse to give her husband the sword, then Gail needed to get it. She had her blade in her pocket, if she needed protection. She hadn't forgotten that they strongly suspected Marie Laveau of aiding and abetting Alice in her mission to eliminate Vincent's children. Well, Gail was a child of Vincent's herself, wasn't she?

She looked at Rowena, and her eyes narrowed. "You'd better not be setting me up," Gail said to the redheaded witch with suspicion in her tone.

"Setting you up?" Rowena echoed, surprise in her voice. "For what? Believe me, I know that Castiel would hunt me down until the end of time, if I let anything happen to you. The entire point of extending the olive branch was to be an ally to all of you, going forward." She sighed. "I understand how you might have some trouble trusting me, but - "

Gail interrupted her. "Well, maybe if you didn't keep pulling crap like this, we could trust you more."

Rowena was growing frustrated now, too. She felt like stamping her foot. "Do ye nae' understand?" the redheaded witch exclaimed in her thick brogue. "Castiel was being stubborn, and Marie said that unless it was you who came to take the sword, the deal was off! I did what I had to do!"

"All right, fine," Gail said in a clipped tone. "So, where is she?"

"She told me she had to retrieve it from its hiding place," Rowena said calmly.

Gail let out another breath. "OK. All right," she said again. "I'll just send a message to Cas over our frequency that I'm okay, and that we'll be back with the sword in a few minutes."

"Aye," Rowena said, nodding in agreement. Then, her lips twitched. "Do me a wee favour? Tell him not to run me through with it, as soon as you hand it over to him."

That surprised a laugh out of the Angel. "I will, but I'm not making any promises," she quipped. Gail sent the message to Cas, but he didn't send one back. Hmm. That was curious. She'd expected him to send back an angry message, threatening Rowena with all kinds of things. Maybe Frank had convinced him to stay calm, although Gail didn't think her brother would exactly be the poster boy for serenity either, not when it came to Rowena.

Oh, well. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but wait. The women had a seat. A minute or two was spent in awkward silence, and then Gail said, "You know, just for the record, I understand what you were trying to say to me, earlier. Even before, when you were talking about having been oppressed by men, in the past. Even though it doesn't seem as bad now as it used to be, I've been oppressed, too."

"Have you, now?" Rowena said, with more than a touch of skepticism. "And, pray tell, when would that have been?"

Gail felt a flash of anger. "Try Camelot," she said bitterly. "Your son burned me at the stake, just because I fell in love. I was given to Arthur like a present by my father, the King of France. Like a piece of property. Not once did anyone ever ask me if I wanted to get married, or not. I was just expected to do it, and shut up about it. Cas and I fell in love, and the King was bedding every woman within a fifty-mile radius, yet it was ME who was burned for infidelity. Or how about in the New World, when we were prosecuted for witchcraft, just because we were different? Just because we were in love, and we weren't afraid to show it. I don't suppose you would know anything about THAT kind of thing, would you?" she added sarcastically, warming to her subject. "As a woman, I took the lion's share of the blame, no matter what the circumstances were. When we were up before the judge - "

" - Magistrate," Rowena said quietly. She certainly did know about the subject. Oh, yes. She knew all too well.

"Whatever," Gail said irritably. "Anyway, he said that I was the one who was leading my husband to sin. He said that I was worse than Cas, just because I enjoyed being with him, and because I felt free to express my love for him."

Rowena was silent for a moment. Then she said, "I, too, have suffered from the same double standards, over the centuries. It made me angry, and bitter. Sometimes, I just wanted to take those men, those oppressors, and set them to bleed. Make them suffer, as I've suffered all this time. I never dreamed that you would have had those same sorts of experiences, as well."

Gail laughed shortly. "Xavier called me a whore in Heaven's court, at Cas's tribunal. Me. I was a virgin when I met Cas, each and every time! I don't recall HIM being called the male equivalent! Oh, wait: that's because there isn't one. Patricia called me a whore, too, when we were both campaigning to be God. I guess I don't have to tell you that she had no such word to sling at Cas or Bobby, at the same time." Wow. Holy moly. Where was all this coming from? Gail wondered. Obviously, she had some unexpressed feelings regarding those incidents, to say the least. Poor Rowena. She had no idea what she'd started, here.

Again the witch was silent, and then she remarked, "It seems that you and I are much more alike than I had thought."

Now it was Gail's turn to be silent. This was so weird. Ever since she'd first made Rowena's acquaintance, way back when the witch was scheming with Crowley, Gail had hated the woman, viewing her as an enemy. Was it possible that they had clashed so often due to their similarities, instead of their differences?

Suddenly, Marie Laveau appeared in the centre of the sitting room, holding a long black box. "Good. You came," she said to Gail. She glanced around the room. "You are alone, I trust?"

"Yes, I am," Gail confirmed. She stood from her chair and approached the Creole witch, but Marie held up a hand to halt her.

"First, we have to have the séance," Marie told Gail. "Then, I will give you the sword."

"Seance?" Gail said, puzzled. "Nobody said anything about a séance. Why?"

"There is a very important message you must receive from the Beyond," Madame Laveau said enigmatically. "Have you ever had your cards read?"

Gail rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't have time for this. Don't worry; I've already met my tall, dark, handsome man. Several of them, in fact. But, two of them won't be that way for much longer, if we don't get that sword. So, please, can I have it? I promise, you'll get it back, intact, as soon as we use it to break that spell."

"We must have the séance, first," Marie insisted.

Gail let out a frustrated breath. Wow. Rowena hadn't been kidding when she'd said that Madame Laveau was stubborn. She tried a different approach: "I'm sorry that they tried to kill you, when we were here, before. But, let's face it: that's what they do. Besides, you confessed to us that you had murdered people."

"As you have, I'm sure," Marie said coolly.

"Yes, but they were all bad," Gail quipped, using the quote from a movie she and Frank had once watched.

But the witch was unamused. Of course, to be fair, there hadn't been any movies, back in her day. Marie pointed to the doorway of the room they were in. "I have everything set up in the séance room. Follow me."

Then she started to walk out of the parlour as Gail turned to Rowena with a furious glare. The redheaded witch gave Gail a half-shrug. "I told you she was stubborn," Rowena said in a soft voice.

"I heard that," Marie called out.

Gail let out another, even more frustrated breath. She'd better wrap this up soon, or Cas and Frank were going to go nuts. If they weren't already, that was. It was odd that Cas hadn't sent her a message in return, though, if for no other reason than just to acknowledge that he'd received hers. She supposed that he was simply trusting that she knew what she was doing. Ummm... DID she?

"OK, but if I see a cauldron in there, I'm gone," Gail quipped, following in the direction the Creole witch had gone.

The three women sat at a small table in a room that reminded Gail of Quinn's séance room. Maybe there was a blueprint for these kinds of places, she thought wryly, but then, she felt badly. Poor Quinn. She'd really gotten a raw deal, hadn't she? And her family would never have closure on her death, because Becky was dead now, too. It hadn't surprised them very much to find out that Becky had admitted to Quinn's murder. They had discussed the possibility at the time, of course. But none of them, not even Gail, had suspected that Becky had deteriorated to that extent. Becky had taken her worst secret to the grave with her, though. Before she and Vincent had gone to the Caribbean, prior to Christmas, the Voodoo Priest had wiped her house clean of any evidence of hers and Damien's cannibalism.

Marie poured a glass of dark red wine, handing it to Gail. Gail took it, but she looked at the witch dubiously. "What's this for?"

"It's ceremonial," Marie told her. She poured a glass for Rowena, and then one for herself. "If you drink blackberry wine with us, we bind each other to a verbal contract of openness, and trust."

Gail was silent for a moment. On the one hand, this seemed like an unnecessary waste of time. But, on the other hand, she knew by now how much value ancient beings put on rituals like this. As long as all three of them drank, she would know she wasn't being poisoned. Gail knew that Marie would be as leery of her as she was of Marie. She glanced quickly at the box, which was leaning against the wall behind the Creole witch. She was so close to getting that sword.

She looked down at the contents of her glass. It was the darkest of red wines. It almost looked like blood. Yuk.

"I don't suppose you have anything in a nice, light Zinfandel?" Gail quipped.

Rowena lifted her glass, trying to help move things along. "To honesty, and openness," she toasted.

The women clinked glasses, and all three of them drank the wine. Then Marie opened a small box that was sitting in front of her on the table. "In the interests of time, I will not do a full reading," she told Gail. "I will have you pull one card, only." She took the Tarot cards out of the box, extending the deck to the Angel.

Resisting the very strong urge to roll her eyes, Gail reached out and selected a card from the middle of the deck. Marie took it from her, placing it face up on the table.

Gail wasn't really that familiar with Tarot cards, so she had no idea what it was. Rowena inhaled sharply, though.

"The Blood On The Cross," Marie announced matter-of-factly.

Gail was puzzled. "I admit I don't know much about the subject, but that doesn't sound like any Tarot card I've ever heard of," she remarked.

"It isn't a standard deck," Marie said in a cool tone. "It's one used by practitioners of voodoo. This card suggests a duality; a combination of Good and Evil, Piety and Sin, and the struggle for balance between the two."

Gail pursed her lips together. This was starting to sound like one of those generic readings offered by those so-called "psychics" who charged people exorbitant rates for personal readings. Hadn't she read somewhere that Madame Laveau used to go to rich white ladies' homes and do readings for them? This was the kind of thing Gail would expect from something like that. Mysterious-sounding, but very general in nature. The card reader was hedging their bets by presenting things this way. Because then, no matter what, whatever they'd said could not really be considered wrong.

But then, Marie looked her in the eyes. "I want to thank Castiel for having dealt with Valentina's killer. She has been able to find peace, now."

Gail gave the witch a slight nod of acknowledgement. Technically, Valentina had taken care of that little matter, herself. But if that was what had prompted Marie to grant them this favour, Gail saw no need to correct her. There was a tickle in Gail's brain now, though. What was she missing, here?

"The matter is far from over," Marie continued, distracting Gail from making the connection. "There are people you trust that you should not."

Gail glanced suspiciously at Rowena, who frowned. But before either of them had the chance to say anything, Marie was speaking again: "There is something that someone very powerful does not want you to know, and they will do anything to prevent you from finding it out. Anything. Lying, manipulation, and torture. Murder. These are just some of the crimes this individual has committed, or has had others commit, in order to keep the truth hidden."

"OK, well, that's just great. Very informative," Gail said sarcastically. "I know a bunch of powerful individuals, any number of who might have any number of things they don't want me to know. We're just wasting time with these vague, enigmatic statements. What's the point?"

Rowena had been wondering that same thing, herself. It wasn't like Marie to do a pointless, vague reading, like she was doing now. If anything, she had always been quite blunt with truth-seekers, telling them that if they didn't want the answers, they shouldn't be asking the questions. Rowena had liked that, a lot. She herself didn't dabble in psychic readings, believing them to be bollocks, for the most part, so she had agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment.

But now, it seemed as though Marie was... "Why are you stalling?" the redhaired witch asked her former partner.

"She was waiting for me," Alice said, rushing into the room. She grabbed Gail's arms roughly, clamping the sigil handcuffs around the Angel's wrists in one smooth motion. Then she attached the chain at the end of the shackles to the arm of the chair, for good measure.

As Eric's adoptive mother moved over to where Marie sat, Gail's eyes widened. Crap! Alice was here?! She'd certainly taken her time, though, hadn't she? Dammit! They'd been lulling Gail into a false sense of security, this whole time.

She looked at Rowena. "Wow. All your talk about betrayal, and second chances? Better make sure your affairs are in order, because Cas and Frank are going to destroy you," Gail said angrily.

Rowena was open-mouthed. "What are you doing?" she said to Marie.

"Never mind. Don't you worry about it," Marie snapped back. "Let's just say we're righting a wrong."

"We took this meeting in good faith," Rowena protested. "I canna' let you harm her."

Alice shrugged. "Then you can die, too."

Marie looked at her sharply. "No. That was not part of the agreement," she admonished the human woman.

Gail was struggling now, but it was no use, of course. She was screwed. The sigils were preventing her from popping out, and the shackles were attached firmly to the chair. She even tried budging the chair, but it was rooted to the floor. And now, something weird was happening: she was seeing double. No; quadruple. There were a couple of each woman, and their images were blurring together. Oh, crap. They had dosed her. Great. Just great. If she got out of this alive, Cas was going to have to send her back to remedial school.

She closed her eyes tight, shook her head, and then opened them again, hoping to clear her vision. But now, it was even worse. She saw a small, domestic cat with striped markings sitting on the table, swishing its tail back and forth. Then she looked to her right, and there was a black cat, with bright green eyes. Its whiskers twitched, as if in amusement. Gail's mind was thrown way back to that time in the bunker, when Rowena had changed herself into cat form to infect the four of them with the Deadly Sins.

Rowena was still talking to Marie now, trying to persuade the Creole witch to let Gail go. She had no idea who that woman was who had put the cuffs on Gail, and she didn't care. She just needed to make sure they didn't hurt Gail. "Why are ye doin' this?" Rowena pled with Marie. "She means you no harm, I promise."

But all Gail heard was yowling. The black cat seemed to be growing in size now, until it was big enough to resemble the black panther that had attacked her in the Secret Garden. Gail flinched, even though she knew that what she was seeing now wasn't real. That had been such a horrible time in her life. Her poor body had been mangled by that thing. The pain had been excruciating. Lucifer was on the loose, screwing around with them, and Gail had had to sit in the bunker and agonize, worrying about everyone's safety when they were all out in the field. Feeling guilty, because she wasn't out there helping them. And that had been that whole awkward phase with her and Cas, at the time. That had been shortly after the Demon delusion. They had gotten back together, but were still struggling with the concepts of forgiveness, and redemption. She remembered that there had actually been a time when she had wanted Cas out of the bunker, so that she wouldn't have to look at him, or spend any time with him. That was unimaginable to her now. A tear formed in the corner of her eye, and slid down her cheek. If she got out of here alive, she was going to make it a point to apologize to him for that. Not that he would blame her, of course. He hadn't even blamed her at the time. They had worked their way through all of that, and come out stronger as a couple. And then had come the ultimate punchline: none of it had ever happened. But that didn't make the trauma they had both gone through over the whole thing just magically disappear, did it? Every now and then, something would happen to take Gail back mentally to one stressful time in their lives or another, and Lord knew, there had been a whole bunch of them. She'd recalled some others a short while ago, when she and Rowena had been talking about the past. Gail wondered if maybe she should go see Rob and Suzanne's therapist after all; if she could squeeze in an appointment between life-threatening battles, that was. Based on her earlier diatribe, it sure seemed like Gail had a lot of things to get off her chest.

She laughed at the imagery of a human psychiatrist sitting there scribbling down notes, as she talked about having been attacked by a Demonic jungle cat in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip while in pursuit of Lucifer, and having been angry at her Angel boyfriend at the time for being a Demon himself, when he had never even been a Demon. The next time she saw Cas, it would be when he was visiting her in the looney bin.

As it often did, the power of laughter served to snap Gail out of whatever it had been that she'd been experiencing. The cats turned back into women, and Alice was moving towards Gail now, digging into Gail's pants pocket for her Angel blade.

But Gail didn't have her blade. She had left it behind in their hotel room, she realized now. Oh, boy. If these witches didn't kill Gail, Cas was probably going to. She'd had her blade in her pants pocket when they'd met Frank for dinner and a drink, before going to the parade. She and Cas didn't eat, of course, but Frank had remarked that he felt weird, eating and drinking by himself all the time. So Cas had ordered Gail a glass of wine, and she and her brother had been goofing around, and Gail had ended up spilling half of her wine in her lap. So she had changed into a different pair of pants before they'd left their hotel, and she'd forgotten to transfer the knife into them.

Strangely, that was the thing that had saved her, in this instance. Had Alice come up with the Angel blade, there would have been nothing Gail could have done about it. But the woman checked Gail's pockets and barked, "Where is it?", and Gail smiled, because if Alice had another weapon that could kill Gail, she would have used it already.

"All Eric wanted was to have a relationship with you," Gail said to the woman with disgust in her voice. "If you have a beef with Vincent, I understand that. Believe me, I understand that. But Eric was a good kid, and you murdered him in cold blood. What kind of a monster does that? And then, you tried to kill Rob, too, and now you want to kill me? Good luck, lady. You have no idea what you're dealing with, here. None. If you go near Rob again, we'll take you apart, limb from limb."

Alice turned to look at Marie, furious. "You said she would have her weapon with her! Now, will you intervene?"

"No" Marie said quietly. "No. I cannot."

"Well, I can," Rowena spoke up. She had been totally blindsided by what had occurred here in the last few minutes. While Gail had been in the throes of her hallucination, Rowena had been berating Marie, urging the Creole witch to release Gail and give them the sword, as promised. They had made a covenant. How dare Marie break such a time-honoured tradition? If they didn't have honour, what did they have?

Marie had smiled at that, and it had been a strange-looking smile, one that Rowena couldn't quite read. But that was when Gail had laughed, and Rowena realized that she'd better take action, before something disastrous happened.

The redheaded witch bolted from her chair, grabbed the box, and shouted, "Brak exponenti Enoch!" The cuffs and chain fell off Gail, and clattered to the floor. She sprang out of the chair as Rowena used another incantation to immobilize Marie and Alice.

Suddenly, Gail realized what had been eluding her. She looked at Madame Laveau and said, "Wait a minute: Valentina told us she got the immortality potion Anthony took from a witch. That was YOU, wasn't it?"

Rowena had been rushing toward Gail so that they could teleport back to the parade together under Gail's power. But she stopped short now, waiting for Marie's response.

"Oui," Marie confirmed, tight-lipped. She supposed it did no harm to admit it, now. "It is my potion. That is why I did not die, when your Hunters tried to kill me. I tested the potion on myself, before giving some to Valentina."

"Why didn't you tell me about that?" Rowena exclaimed, open-mouthed with astonishment. This was unbelievable! All this time, Rowena could have had the secret of immortality?

"Why did you have sex with Vincent at the Solstice?" Marie shot back bitterly. "Why would I want YOU to live forever? I wished you would die! You knew I loved him!"

As Alice struggled to overcome the effects of Rowena's spell, Gail was looking back and forth between the witches. Suddenly it was like she was a spectator at one of those daytime talk shows on TV; the sensationalist ones, that inflamed peoples' emotions. Like Joltin' Joan, in Vancouver. Wow. Today was certainly turning out to be the Greatest Hits of some of the suckiest moments of Gail's existence, wasn't it?

"I can't be blamed for the fact that you were too timid to even talk to the man," Rowena said, but she knew she was on shaky ground now. Did that mean she'd had to shag him, regardless? There'd been many other men at the celebration that night, hadn't there? Women, too. Now that Rowena had been introduced to that side of things during her brief relationship with Abbadon, she realized that there were many ways to express herself sexually. Or, even just to show affection for a fellow human being. Well, so to speak. Yet Rowena had sought out Vincent at the revels, almost as if she'd deliberately wanted to have her experience with the Voodoo Priest, and then throw it in Marie's face. How horrible was THAT? No wonder Marie was so angry with her. And Rowena had been oblivious, this whole time. Or maybe she just hadn't wanted to know.

But now Alice was weighing in, and she was angry, too, at Marie. "What do you mean, you loved him? Is that why you refused to kill any of his children?" Alice asked Marie, furious.

"I couldn't bring myself to do that," Marie said in a subdued tone. "If life had been fairer to me, they could have been MY children."

"Yet, you helped me to do it," Alice pointed out.

If this had been one of those cop shows, Gail would have yelled, "A-ha!" But, really, was any of this a surprise? Aside from the source of the immortality potion, that was. She wished they had time to delve into that subject, but right now, she knew what the priority was. She and Rowena needed to grab Alice and get that sword back to their parade float. Gail still wasn't quite sure how she felt about Marie, but she didn't have the time to decide, right now.

Gail reached out to grab Alice's arm, but Marie said, "No. I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that." She waved her hand, and Alice disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

Great. Terrific. Gail glared at Marie for a moment. Then she grabbed Rowena's hand, and then they were gone.


	4. Divide And Conquer

Chapter 4 – Divide And Conquer

"There. That should do it," Rowena said. She handed the sword to Cas after using it to cut through the ivy that was covering the bunker's outer walls. Boy, this had better work, Gail thought fervently.

The redheaded witch raised both of her arms in the air and said a couple of incantations, just for good measure. A moment later, the ivy began to shrivel up and turn brown, like leaves do in the winter. Then, it disintegrated altogether.

Rowena stood back, looking satisfied. "Well, ye may need a broom and a big dustpan, but I think you'll find the inside of the place to be safe, now."

Gail patted her front pants pocket, where her Angel blade was. "Don't worry; I have an app for that," she quipped. In this case, she would be only too glad to be Sam and Dean's cleaning lady.

Cas cocked his head to the side, and then a moment later, his expression relaxed. "Bobby just reported that Sam and Dean are back to normal. He's seen them both, and spoken to them. The enchantment is gone."

"What did they say to him?" Gail asked eagerly. "Are they still mad at us?"

"Well, he didn't actually..." Cas faltered for a moment. "He didn't actually appear to them as himself. He possessed one of the female housekeepers, so that he could get inside their room and see that both of them were all right."

Gail and Rowena looked at each other, and then the women burst out laughing. "I always told him he had nice legs," Rowena joked.

After a moment, Cas extended the sword back to Rowena for her to take, handle-first. She took a beat to realize how big this whole thing was: She had just saved Sam and Dean Winchesters' lives. Was she crazy? But, on the other hand, she and her daughter had just shared a laugh. And, most importantly, she had just handed a sword to Castiel, turned her back to him, and her head was still attached to her body. To Rowena, that was real progress.

Feeling so warm and fuzzy, the red-haired witch smiled at the Angels. "I'll get this back to Marie's place," she told them, gesturing with the sword. Then her smile faded a little. "Even if SHE doesn't honour certain agreements, I honour mine. Having said that, though, I guess I have some fences to mend in that regard. I'm sorry we weren't able to apprehend Alice. If I'm able to find out any information about her, I'll let you know. Oh, and, about those Codices..."

"Can you please be kind enough to keep them safe for us, until we can deal with Vincent?" Cas asked her, using his old-world manners. He even dipped his head a little as he said it. Rowena almost did a double-take. Now, she knew the key to getting along with these men: save Gail's life. Ever since the witch had brought the Angel back to the parade float unharmed, and with the sword in hand, both Castiel and Frank had been much nicer to her. Rowena could definitely get used to that.

"Aye, I'll keep them safely hidden until you're ready to receive them," she said softly, venturing a wry smile. "I only wish that I could help you with the translations, but you'll need the Codex for that."

Cas sighed. Yes, he was aware. And while it seemed as if they had turned a corner in their relationship with the man's mother, Cas didn't hold out any hope that the same would hold true when it came to the King of Hell.

But that was another problem, for another day. Both Angels thanked Rowena again, and then Gail gave the witch the gentle push, teleporting her back to New Orleans.

The two of them stood there behind the bunker in the chilly night air. Cas had already put his jacket on his wife's shoulders, and he was staring straight ahead now, looking thoughtful.

"I know, right?" Gail said, correctly reading his thoughts. "It's great that they're back to themselves again, but the question now is: where do we go from here?"

Cas nodded. "Exactly. The crisis may have passed as far as the spell goes, but the situation remains the same."

They were both silent. That was true. Nothing had changed, not really. Bobby had told Cas that Damien was still with the brothers, and the kid was still doing the father-son act with Sam.

"And, how about Michelle?" Gail piped up now.

That had been another thing: they had no idea how to tell their New Orleans friend that her fiance was not the man she thought he was. Where was their proof? Everybody else they had known from Les Rebelles Blancs was dead. Cas ought to know, since he had killed almost all of them himself. They couldn't go running around accusing a Head of State of being a racist, murderous bastard. Not without some kind of proof, that was for sure. Not to mention their belief that Benoit Levesque and Dr. Roarke were setting up some kind of Reich over there, using Vincent's "special" progeny as potentially deadly weapons. Right. That sounded like the plot of a bad spy movie, or something.

They still had a little time to figure out what to do about that whole mess, but the clear priority right now was getting Sam and Dean away from the Beast.

"I think we need to divide and conquer," Cas told his wife. "We'll get Bobby and Gabriel to go with us. Two of us will talk to Dean, and two of us will talk to Sam. I think that you and I should see if we can get Dean outside Damien's sphere of influence. If we can, I believe we can convince him of the truth."

"Or you could just slap your hand on his head, and show him," Gail said irritably.

Cas looked at her face, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Let's just look at that as Option B," he said to her, and then he took her hand.

But when they got to Heaven, the Angels ran into another obstacle: Gabriel was nowhere to be found.

The couple stood in the High Office with Bobby, waiting, but the Archangel was not responding to God's messages. Then Cas tried, then Gail, but there was no response. They'd popped around looking for him, but he wasn't in any of the usual spots. Nor was he in any of the unusual ones. Gabe had, apparently, taken a holiday.

Bobby was seething. "The one damn time we need him for something. Unbelievable!" he exclaimed. "Maybe I oughta think about putting those tracking chips they make nowadays in some of you guys."

Cas was expressionless. He knew that Bobby was just blowing off some steam. He always knew where Cas was, and how to reach him. Gail, too. But, even though it had been a while since his Brother had been that way, Cas was aware that Gabriel was much more capricious than himself. Castiel had almost always been the dutiful soldier, whereas Gabriel was a free spirit. It was just unfortunate that he had picked this particular point in time to express that freedom.

Still, they had to work with the hand that they'd been dealt. Even though Bobby was not the Father, he still held the Office, and they had the extra benefit of the fact that he was an authority figure to Sam. Cas and Gail were going to go with the original plan, which was to spirit Dean away when he left the motel room to get beer, or food. Fortunately, they could count on the fact that this would occur sooner, rather than later.

Bobby brought Cas and Gail to the motel where the Winchesters were currently residing. Gail noted with amusement that the Impala was parked right outside their room. For experienced Hunters, they sure didn't seem to be too concerned about covering their tracks. Then, she stopped smiling. The last time they'd seen the brothers, they had said that they would kill any Angel who came near Damien, and they hadn't been kidding. Maybe the fact that they weren't covering their tracks was more ominous than funny.

After a couple of hours of Angel surveillance, Dean came out of the room. Cas and Gail were relieved to see that he looked like his usual self. Even though Bobby had assured them that the spell was broken, it was still good to see it for themselves. The other good thing was that he was alone. The trio exchanged glances. There would never be a better time.

As Bobby winked himself into the motel room Dean had just exited, Cas and Gail popped themselves into the Impala. Cas put his hand on Dean's head, rendering his friend unconscious. Then he transferred Dean to the passenger seat and took the wheel, with Gail in the back. They had agreed that it would be best for Sam and Damien to think that Dean had merely driven away, and that Bobby was just there to check on their welfare. If Sam suspected a conspiracy, or if the Beast did, things could go south in a hurry. Bobby could merely say that he'd wanted to talk to Sam alone, because Sam's brother was more hard-headed. Bobby was the only one of them who would be able to get past the sigils that the Winchesters had painted on the walls in their room. Although Gabriel might have, if the brothers had kept the symbols fairly simple.

Cas drove the car to a neighbourhood bar, telling Gail in a wry voice that if Dean was going to be angry with them, at least Cas could buy their friend a couple of drinks, to help calm him down. Besides, it was a good idea to take their meeting in a public place, until they could determine just how angry Dean was going to be.

Before Cas woke Dean up, he frisked the elder Winchester for weapons, looking specifically for an Angel blade. As he pulled the various weapons out of Dean's pockets, Gail looked on in astonishment. Guns, knives, even brass knuckles...how many of these things did Dean have concealed on his person? And how was he even able to walk around, with all that stuff weighing him down?

The Angels looked at each other, and Cas's lips twitched. "I know," he said, as if she had voiced the thought aloud. "I've often wondered how he does it, myself."

Once Cas ran out of pockets to check, Gail let out a sigh of relief. "No Angel blade," she said softly. Maybe he had softened in his stance towards them.

But Cas gave his head a brief shake. He wasn't finished, yet. As Gail looked on, open-mouthed, her husband reached into Dean's sleeve and pulled out a Demon knife. Then, in an even more surreal sight, Cas reached up Dean's pants leg, and out came the Angel blade that Cas had known his friend would have somewhere on his person. It was a good thing he hadn't had to keep looking. Cas thought wryly. He was aware that Dean had even more hiding places on and around his body for weapons, but Cas would just as soon not check them, if he didn't have to. The search was mainly just a formality, anyway. Cas doubted that Dean would attempt to attack them in public. That was another reason he'd brought their friend here.

Cas pocketed the Angel blade. "I'm going to come around to the passenger side to wake him up," Cas told Gail. "Then, I'll teleport him into a stall in the mens' room. If you can take those weapons back to the bunker, then come back inside the bar, and we'll all have a chat."

"OK, sweetie," Gail agreed. Her lips twitched briefly. "Don't wait for me to order those drinks, though. He's bound to be pretty pissed off."

A few minutes later, the three of them were sitting in a booth in the bar. Dean was knocking back his third shot, now. He had calmed down a bit, but as Gail had predicted, the elder Winchester had been angry when he'd realized what Cas had done.

But it was kind of strange, Gail was thinking, because Dean had seemed a lot angrier over having been abducted and stripped of his weapons than he was at them, personally. Finally, after he'd finished his drink, Dean looked at his friends and sighed.

"OK, so what are we gonna do about this?" Dean said wearily.

The Angels exchanged glances. "We wanted to talk to you, to see if there's any way we can convince you that we're telling you the truth," Cas said in a quiet tone.

Dean was silent. Gail took that as an encouraging sign. At least he wasn't issuing death threats. Yet.

Cas was thinking the same thing, so he pushed on: "We've known each other for quite a while now, haven't we, Dean?"

The elder Winchester nodded, taking a pull on his beer.

Cas glanced at Gail, and then he looked back at Dean. "Then you know that I have frequently been evasive in the past, when it comes to Heavenly issues," Cas went on, and now, Gail's face broke into a smile. She couldn't help it.

"Should I call him Captain Obvious, or do you want to?" Gail quipped to Dean.

His lips twitched a little. "Actually, I was thinking about calling him something else, but with you here, I guess I'd better not," Dean said dryly. "Cas is liable to punch me in the face for using language like that in front of you, and I'm not packing any more, thanks to you guys."

Cas persisted: "Therefore, you should know that if I tell you and Sam that Damien is Vincent's son, not Sam's, and that the child is the Beast of the Apocalypse, don't you suppose I have a reason for that?"

Dean was silent for another moment. He sighed again. And then, he said something that surprised the Angels: "I know, Cas. I believe you."

Gail was astonished. "WHAT?!" she exclaimed. "You believe us? Just like that?"

"Yeah," Dean said simply, taking another drink from the beer bottle. "There's something up with that kid. I didn't know it then, but I'm pretty sure I know it now."

Gail looked at Cas. Well, holy moly, she said over their frequency. Miracles DO happen.

He smiled briefly. With a little help and a slight modification from me, he told her. But, still...

"How do you mean?" Cas asked their friend, aloud.

"I dunno," Dean said, looking thoughtful. "Just...something. Some kind of a vibe."

"What about Sam?" Gail inquired eagerly, but Dean was shaking his head.

"Nahhh," the elder Winchester said. "He's still Team Damien, all the way. That kid's got Sammy wrapped around his little finger." He paused, letting out a short laugh. "'Damien'. I guess I should have gotten a clue, right there."

"I guess that was Vincent's idea of a joke," Gail said acidly. Now, it was her turn to sigh. "I feel like I should apologize, for some reason. I mean, the guy's my father."

This time, Dean's laugh was genuine. "Your brother's the Beast. And, for once, I'm not talking about Frank," he teased her.

Gail made a face. "Settle down, Egbert," she teased him back.

Cas allowed himself the luxury of a smile, just for a moment. It was good to see the two of them interacting this way, after all that time of being apart from the brothers, and the animosity towards them that the men had expressed when they had parted back in December. But then, Cas got serious again. "We will all have to think of a way to deal with the situation, going forward," he told Dean. "Bobby is there right now, but he is not going to confront the Beast. He's just there to talk to Sam, the same as we are here to talk to you."

Dean nodded. "Divide and conquer," he said, and Cas's eyebrows rose, causing his friend to grin. "Like you said, this ain't my first rodeo with you," Dean added. Then he sighed heavily. "Does the kid really have to die, Cas? I mean, he's just a kid."

"If he is allowed to live, and Vincent is able to find the False Prophet, the world as we know it will cease to exist," Cas said grimly.

"Awww, geez. Great," Dean said with a glum expression. "I have no idea how we're gonna get Sammy on board for that. He really thinks that kid is his. I don't think he's going to just step aside and let you stick a knife in Damien."

"I'm not so sure I'll be doing that," Cas replied, looking thoughtful. "You saw what happened at the bunker. The Chosen One tried to kill the Beast with Gabriel's blade, but he was unable. So was Gabriel. An Archangel. Therefore, I won't be able to cause him any harm, either. So, until we figure out how to slay him, I suggest that we appear to have remorse for the attempt on Damien's life. We'll tell Sam that we were mistaken, and that we freely accept him as a member of the family, now."

Dean sat back, looking at his friends. "Terrific. So we're gonna lie to Sam, and then plot to kill the kid behind his back? When did we become the bad guys?"

Cas frowned. "I have had to do many of those kinds of things before, in my service of Heaven. Believe me, if there was any other way..."

"Yeah, Cas, I know," Dean said, sighing again. He looked at Gail. "I guess I owe you both an apology. Sammy and I said some pretty harsh things to you guys, the last time we saw you."

Gail nudged her husband. "Sweetie, can you check your phone for the weather report? I think Hell just froze over," she quipped.

"You think you're really funny, don't you, Griselda?" Dean said irritably.

Gail shrugged. "Not really. I'm just trying to lighten up a very dark situation," she said honestly.

"Well, hold onto that thought, because Sammy's not gonna be in the best mood when he sees you guys," Dean said, and then he drained his beer. "All right, come on. Let's get this over with."

Things were quiet when the trio got back to the motel. Bobby and Damien were sitting at the table, playing cards. Bobby was teaching the boy how to play Go Fish, and Crazy Eights. Normal kid stuff. But as they played, he was also trying to get a read on the boy. How evil WAS Damien, exactly? How much did he know? What were Vincent's plans? He couldn't be too overt about it, but Bobby did manage to pick up a couple of nuggets. He now knew that Damien had killed Becky, and that the boy wouldn't hesitate to kill any one of them, too, if he felt like it. Luckily, the child was still a bit too intimidated to try to go up against God, or any of the higher-ranking Angels, one on one. That was why Bobby felt safe enough to attempt what he was about to suggest.

Cas and Gail had made their apologies to Sam. The younger Winchester had been angry at first, but Bobby had paved the way somewhat by behaving normally towards Damien, and now Cas and Gail were trying their best to do the same.

After they'd all had a few minutes' casual conversation in which any meaningful subjects were carefully avoided. Bobby put his cards down on the table, both literally and figuratively. "Look, I think it's great that we're all talking like civilized people again, but we all know we're gonna have to talk about what's really been going on," he said with a frown, looking at the Winchesters. "Tell you what: now that the ivy is gone and the bunker is safe again, why don't we just go back there and hash things out?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "What do you think?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean gave him a shrug. He thought it was a damn good idea, but he didn't want to appear too eager, either. "I wouldn't mind sleeping in my own bed for a while," he remarked.

"OK. Deal," Sam said with a brief nod. He looked at Damien. "Come on; I'll help you pack your stuff."

Damien smiled. "It's okay, Dad. I can do it." He hopped off the chair. "Thanks for teaching me how to play cards, Grandpa."

Gail was seething inside. That little bastard. How dare he? Damien passed her and Cas on his way to the cot that Sam had borrowed from the motel, and set up beside his own bed. The child was still smiling, and Gail's eyes narrowed. He'd better not get too comfortable, she thought.

Cas was looking at Sam, his heart clenching at the expression his friend wore. Sam was watching Damien with a look of love on his face that would have been heartwarming under other circumstances. This was going to break Sam's heart.

Once the Winchester brothers and Damien were packed, the Angels transported them all to the bunker. Dean had protested about leaving his Baby behind at the motel, but Bobby had waved his hand and told him that the Impala was now parked safely in the bunker's garage. Cas and Gail exchanged quick glances, trying to recall an occasion when Bobby had ever done that before.

And then, God had one more surprise: "After you, Damien," he said, gesturing expansively toward the entrance to the bunker.

The boy felt apprehension for a moment, but then, he shrugged to himself. He'd been able to get in there before, hadn't he? He hadn't done anything even remotely evil since he'd been here last. Well, unless you counted sneaking sips of Dean's booze, when his "uncle" and Sam weren't looking. Actually, Damien had kind of enjoyed staying with the Winchesters for a while. They had treated him well. Spoiled him, even. After a little encouragement on his part, they'd ended up telling him far more than they probably should have about the cases they'd dealt with over the years. The only thing he'd sort of blown was the opportunity to find out more about Castiel, and the Angels' plans for him and his father. Every time Damien had tried to bring the subject up, the brothers had shut him down, saying that they didn't want to talk about it. Telling him that they would protect him, no matter what. Well, Damien didn't need their piddly little protection, he needed intel. Now that their scheme to kill him had backfired so spectacularly, what else were Castiel and the others cooking up?

But it was Becky who had proven to be Damien's undoing, this time. Sam opened the metal door that led down the stairs to the bunker. "Go ahead. It's OK," he prompted Damien in a gentle voice.

The problem was, Damien couldn't. The door might as well still be closed, for all the progress he was able to make. It was like a giant hand was pushing him away from the opening. He tried to move forward, but the harder he tried, the more difficult it was. Finally, the Beast gave it one more mighty effort. But just when it felt like he was going to be able to penetrate the invisible barrier and pass through the doorway after all, the hand pushed back once more.

Damien stumbled backwards a couple of steps, looking up at Bobby. What had the old bastard done?

"I brought God's Seal down from the Office," Bobby said casually, answering Damien's question. Even though he hadn't spoken it aloud. "I traced the door frame with it, then walked around the place and sealed up some of the cracks. There shouldn't be any more evil plants invading the premises. Of any kind," he finished sharply. Then he looked at Sam, who was standing by the door, open-mouthed. "Sorry, Son," Bobby added in a more subdued tone. "I just had to make sure."

As Sam looked at the boy he'd believed to be his son, Damien's expression grew dark. "You meddling old man," he said to Bobby, sounding eerily like his real father. He raised a hand, and Bobby staggered. Then Damien smiled, looking more like a Demon than an innocent child. God was vulnerable.

The Beast raised both arms, but Cas stepped in front of Bobby, his eyes blazing bright blue. "You will not raise your hand against God!" he shouted.

"Oh, yeah? Who's going to stop me? You, Cas?" the boy sneered. "Your so-called Chosen One and a mighty Archangel couldn't." He waved his arms, and Cas was pushed back. Blood started to pour out of the Angel's nose and ears.

Gail waved her arm and, because Damien's attention was elsewhere, she was able to knock him down, onto the ground. He scrambled to his feet and then stared at her.

"My mother hated you, because she knew that Sam was into you," Damien said to Gail. "She used to talk to me, when I was a baby. She said she wanted to get you alone, and carve her name into your chest with an Angel blade. That was the same knife I used to kill her. It might be the same one I use to kill you, too."

Sam was in shock. Five minutes ago, he'd thought that everything was going to be all right. Now he could see how wrong he'd been, about everything.

Bobby stepped around Cas. He appreciated his lieutenant's loyalty, but no snot-nosed little Beast was gonna stand there and -

Damien flung his arm in Gail's direction, and she went flying into the bunker wall. It was too bad his father had told Damien he wanted the Angels left alive. Maybe they could negotiate, later on. But that didn't mean that he couldn't inflict a little pain, in the meantime.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled, and the boy he'd thought was his son laughed. "Oh, believe me, 'Daddy', I'm only getting started," Damien said smugly. He gestured towards the sky, and suddenly, fireballs began to fall in the field behind the bunker.

"Everybody, inside! NOW!" Bobby shouted. He tried to wink them all into the bunker, but he was unable to do it. Damien was staring at him now with red-rimmed eyes, and that evil grin was back on his face. Was the kid actually preventing Bobby from using his powers?

Bobby wasn't about to take the time to find out. He yanked on Sam's arm, practically pulling it out of its socket. "Get inside!"

Then Dean rushed forward, propelling his younger brother through the bunker door. But then, Dean came out again. He went to Cas, who was on his hands and knees, still struggling to move. The Beast had compromised Castiel's powers, too, and the blood was still flowing from the Angel's face.

"Get...Gail...inside," Cas said to Dean, gritting his teeth with effort as he tried to pick himself up off the ground. Dean stood there for a moment, looking indecisive. Gail was recovering from the hard body slam into the bunker wall she'd received, but Cas was looking like a victim from a slasher movie. Damien was standing there grinning, and a couple more fireballs fell from the sky, a little closer, this time.

Gail had her blade out of her pocket and she staggered forward now, pointing it at Damien. The boy laughed. "You're kidding, right?" he said to her. "If God can't kill me, what makes you think YOU can?"

"I'm Vincent's daughter, and you're his son," she said as calmly as she could. Not willing to call him her brother. She would choke if she tried to use that word to refer to the little - "I might be the only one of us who can," she added enigmatically.

As Gail picked up her stride, advancing on Damien with the knife, the expression on the boy's face grew doubtful. He was evil, but he was still a child. Without Vincent's guidance, Damien was unsure. Gail could have a point. He had asked his father when they were hanging out together in the Caribbean how Vincent had gotten that black mark on his face, and the Voodoo Priest had told him about Gail having killed JD. DID she have the capability of hurting Damien?

No way was he taking that chance. Damien was only nine years old. He had to survive till ten, to help Vincent achieve the Apocalypse. Damien still wasn't sure what was in it for him, but if the plan included inflicting pain, and lots of it, Damien was definitely on board.

Right now, though, he'd better save himself. But he wasn't above a couple of parting shots, first. Sam had come back out of the bunker, unwilling to stay inside when his family was still out here, exposed to danger. Damien looked at Sam now, with a cold, flat stare. "I know you're disappointed I'm not your son, Sam," Damien said to the younger Winchester bluntly. "But, a guy like you, who does what you do, he has no business having a kid, anyway. Deep down, you know that, don't you? But, you know what? If you'd really wanted to have kids, you would have quit Hunting a long time ago. But you didn't. So don't expect anybody to feel sorry for you because you didn't get that 'normal life' you said you always wanted. That was your decision, Sammy. Well, yours and Dean's, that is. Maybe if you'd been man enough to stand up to Dean years ago, you wouldn't be in this mess, now."

"Shut up," Dean barked, and then, predictably enough, Damien turned on him. As the fire burned on in the field behind the bunker, the boy was backlit in the most savage way, looking like a pint-sized Satan. Looking more evil than Lucifer had ever looked. Gail remembered somebody once telling them that there were greater evils out there than Lucifer. Who had told them that? She could no longer recall. They had come across so many people in their travels, who had issued so many vague, cryptic warnings.

Damien was looking at Dean now, smiling that sly smile of his. "And what about YOU, Dean? You talk a big game, but when it comes right down to it, you're pretty useless, aren't you? All those weapons of yours, all that tough talk, and what are you left with, at the end of the day? A brother you forced into The Life, a girlfriend who doesn't want to take on your baggage, and a liver the size of a pea. Some hero you are. If YOU had a kid, all you would be able to teach him about would be murder, and self-loathing."

Damien looked at Bobby. "You know what, 'Grandpa'? I actually have to hand it to you. Considering what you've had to deal with over the years, it's a wonder you've been able to keep it together. But, you're going to lose. Nice guys finish last, right?"

The Beast looked at Cas with contempt. "And, you? I'd need all day to talk about what's wrong with you. My Dad seems to think you're kind of a big deal, for some reason. But look at you now, on your knees because I put you there. Me. I'll give you a pass this time because you changed my dirty diapers a few times, and because my mother said you were good to her when she was pregnant with me. But the next time I see you, you'd better show me some respect, Cas."

Then Damien regarded Gail, and the sly smile returned. "I'm not sure if you're the best one of this group, or the worst, 'Sis'. I don't think Vincent knows what to make of you, either. He still thinks you're going to come over to our side, for some reason. I guess we'll see. I have my doubts, but what do I know? I'm just a kid."

Damien waved his arms once more, and just like that, he was gone.

The five of them stood there, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then Bobby sighed. "We'll be right in, Boys." He waved his hand, sending Sam and Dean into the bunker. Once the Beast had gone, God's powers had returned. That had been a disturbing turn of events. Especially since Bobby had been more or less juiced up by handling God's Seal to put the extra protections on the bunker. But all of that had meant nothing to the kid. At least Damien had been kept out of the bunker, though, and as hard as it had been on him, at least Sam knew the truth, now.

Bobby bent down to help Cas, because Cas was the nearest to him. But Cas was already getting to his feet. His strength was back, and the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.

"You OK, Cas?" Bobby asked his friend.

"Yeah," the Angel said gruffly. He was extremely unhappy at the moment, and fearful, too. If Damien was now able to neutralize their powers, what else might he be able to do in the future, once he matured?

Cas rushed towards Gail, even as she was rushing towards him. "Are you all right?" he said, reaching for her.

"I'm fine; just a little sore," she reassured him. "Hold still for a second, so I can clean you up." She waved her blade hand over him, removing the blood.

"That was some bluff you ran," Bobby said to Gail, as she was doing it.

She gave him a tight smile. "I know, right? But, I had to try it. If he hadn't had doubts, we might have been toast, though."

Bobby sniffed the air. "Speaking of which..." He gestured to the fire in the field. The smoke from it was becoming acrid. Remote location or no, Bobby was surprised the fire department hadn't arrived yet. Oh, well. Time to take charge. "Cas, if you'll come and help me with that, we'd better put it out, before it gets out of control."

"I'll go inside, and make sure Dean has the booze on the table," Gail said, half-jokingly. "After what we just witnessed, I think we'll all need at least one." She frowned. "Sam's going to need more than that, probably. What a rotten, sucky situation. See you in a minute." She gave Cas a quick kiss on the cheek, and then she winked herself inside.

Several drinks later, the group had gone from angry, to somber, to apologetic, and now, they were at what Gail had dubbed the "Kiss-and-make-up" stage.

That included humour, of course. Dean was now expressing extreme jealousy that Frank had been with them on a float in an actual Mardi Gras parade. "Man," he whined. "I can't believe I missed that! The barbecue, the booze..."

"...the bare boobs," Gail added, smirking. "That's a lot of B's. We could add beads and babies to that, and then we'd have a whole bunch!"

"Were there lots of girls flashing for beads, or is that just a myth?" Sam wanted to know.

"Oh, no, that's true," Bobby chipped in. "I've seen it, myself." In fact, as his friends had been talking about Mardi Gras, he had been reminiscing rather warmly about the time that he and Rowena had been there. Bobby was glad that Ro had helped his friends the way she had. It was much easier on him when they were all getting along. He knew her behaviour had been questionable in the past, but it seemed as if Rowena had really turned over a new leaf, now. Good. Good.

"Well, I wish I had seen it," Dean said glumly. "That kind of thing is wasted on you guys," he added, looking at Cas and Gail. "Well, I hope Frank enjoyed himself, at least."

"Except for the extreme fear he felt when they thought that Rowena had abducted me, I think he did," Gail said, a dry tone creeping into her voice.

Cas took her hand and gave it a squeeze. He and Frank had been frantic when Rowena had first disappeared with Gail, of course. Then Cas had received the message that she was all right, but that hadn't really helped much, because they hadn't known where she was, or if Rowena's intentions were honourable. But after some discussion and a lot of fuming, it was actually Cas who had convinced Frank to calm down, in the end. His sister was a capable warrior, he had reminded Frank, and Cas didn't think that Rowena would dare to double-cross them this time. As it turned out, the witch hadn't. But it had still been an immense relief for the men to have received Gail back, safe and sound.

"Hey, why don't we call Frank, and see if he wants to join us for a drink?" Gail proposed.

"That's an excellent idea," Cas said eagerly, pulling out his cell phone. He wanted more time to think about the Beast, and what they were going to do about him. Besides, Frank needed to be informed that Damien was out there somewhere, on the loose. Cas doubted it would come down to an issue of the safety of Frank or his family, but he had been wrong before.

Gail was looking curiously at Sam, but she was trying to be surreptitious about it. He wasn't his usual self, but he seemed a lot less devastated than she thought he would have been. Not that she wanted him to be, of course, but... Then, she remembered: when Bobby and Cas had come in from putting out the fire, they had each put a hand on Sam, at the same moment, speaking words of consolation. She had thought it to be a very sweet and caring gesture on the mens' part at the time, but now, she was wondering if there had been more to it than that. A little divine modification, maybe? Not that they would want Sam to forget all about the incident; that wouldn't make any sense. But maybe, in the interests of compassion, they had toned down the recollection of the violence and vitriol Damien had demonstrated. It was going to be hard enough for Sam to deal with his feelings about the boy, as it was. Her heart went out to him.

But, for the time being, there was Frank. Gail's brother was like a breath of fresh, cool air during circumstances like these. Cas had popped over to get Frank, who had been excited to get the invitation. It had been really weird for him when the brothers had been separated from the rest of the family, too. Cas had briefed him on the unfortunate scene with Damien outside the bunker, so Frank was determined to keep the mood light, as only he could.

"So what's it like, getting old overnight?" Frank said to the brothers as soon as he saw them.

Dean took his cue from Frank. The elder Winchester knew that he and Sam were going to have to have a serious talk or three at some point about Damien being an evil-ass voodoo kid from Hell, but right now, all Dean could handle was a couple of drinks, and a laugh or two. His own memory remained intact, and the stuff that the Beast had said was running through Dean's mind now, like one of those earworm songs. In a manner of a couple of seconds, Damien had managed to poke at the two most painful areas of Dean's life. Hardly a day went by that the elder Winchester didn't feel guilt about having coerced his little brother into the Hunting life. Sam could say all he wanted that he was here willingly now, and Dean supposed he might even mean it. But if it hadn't been for Dean's cowardice back then, Sammy could have had an actual son. A real family. Instead, he'd gotten Becky, a scheming stalker, and the damn Beast of the Apocalypse. Like Gail, Dean was sure that Bobby and Cas had done a little modification on Sam. But Dean was all for it, and he loved his friends for having helped Sam like that. They would get through this latest crisis together, like they always did, and Dean would stuff his guilt down his gullet with booze, junk food and sarcasm. Like he always did.

"Why don't YOU tell US what it's like?" Dean asked Frank, smirking. "Or doesn't your house have any mirrors?"

"Pour me a drink, Winchester," Frank shot back, plunking himself down in the chair on the other side of his sister. "That is, if your arthritis isn't acting up too badly."

"Thanks for helping us out with that, Frank," Dean said in a sincere tone, and Frank was disconcerted for a moment. But then, the elder Winchester added, "So, now that you and Rowena are getting along so well, when you go out on your first date, is she gonna pick you up on her broom?"

"What the hell are you babbling about?" Frank said irritably, taking a drink from the glass Dean slid across the table.

"Well, since you didn't kill her, I just assumed that you and her are - " Dean began, but Frank pointed a finger at him. "Finish that sentence, and you're a dead man," Gail's brother said darkly.

"All right, settle down, you two," Bobby growled. He took a drink, and then his beard twitched. "Besides, if you're gonna be asking anybody about how it feels to be old, you should be asking Cas," he added, looking at Gail's husband.

"Hey!" Gail objected, but Cas smiled gently. He saw what Bobby was trying to do. Their friend was attempting to keep things humorous, without letting the men wander into a potentially sensitive area. Maybe they'd forgotten that Bobby and Rowena had once been romantically involved.

Suddenly, Sam piped up, but his question was of the serious kind: "Do you guys really think Rowena has reformed herself?"

They were all silent for a moment, and then it was Cas who spoke: "She was the one who told us about the sword and how we could obtain it, even though there was nothing that compelled her to do so, at the time. Revenge may motivate her in the future, should we ask her for her help to stand against Vincent and Abbadon," the Angel stated, looking thoughtful.

"She saved your lives, boys," Bobby added. "Two Hunters. Guys who've made it their life's calling to do people like her in. I'd say she's making a pretty compelling case."

"And, she promised Cas she would give him those Codices she's got, when the time is right," Gail chipped in.

The brothers looked confused, and then, they remembered. "Oh, yeah. The codpieces," Dean joked. "Ancient documents. Booor-ing. What I want to know is: When do we get to kick some Voodoo Priest ass?"

But no one had an answer for that. Suggestions started to fly around the table. Maybe they should go down to the Caribbean again, and see if they could pick up his trail. But then what would they do, even if they did? They still had no way to kill Vincent. Or the Beast either, the Angels thought. But they didn't say that out loud, of course, in deference to Sam. Not even Frank was going to touch that subject at the moment.

But there was one other subject that Gail's brother had been dying to broach, ever since Cas had told him back at his house that they were currently filling Sam and Dean in on all their adventures in New Orleans. "Did you get the chance to tell these guys about Michelle and the Fuhrer?" Frank wisecracked. He had waffled a few times about the President of France, but now that they were back home, Frank was once again convinced that Benoit Levesque was a racist. Nearly every day, he was seeing disturbing news reports about the guy and what was going on in his country, under his leadership. Maybe Michelle didn't really know much about the man's politics. They were an ocean apart, weren't they?

"What?" Dean said sharply.

They proceeded to tell the brothers about running into Michelle, and finding out the shocking news about the identity of the man she was engaged to.

"Oh, and it gets better," Gail said, her voice laden with sarcasm. "Benoit adopted one of the kids from the compound, who just happens to be black. Gee, I wonder why he might have done that. This boy he adopted, Jerry, is a sweet kid, but he's got some pretty awesome powers. The trouble is, he doesn't know how to control them. And we're almost positive that Levesque will have the other ones that he and our old buddy Dr. Roarke took from the compound working for him, too. And I doubt they're doing good things." She looked around the table at the men. "You know what? Maybe we're going about this whole Vincent thing all wrong."

"What do you mean?" Cas asked her.

Gail turned to him. "Remember a while back, when we were talking about using the information we have, and Rob's and my memories, to track Vincent's surviving kids down? Well, we know where eight of the most powerful ones are right now, don't we?"

Dean was staring at her. "What are you trying to say?"

"I think I might have an idea," Sam remarked. His expression was hard to read.

Frank was looking back and forth at the Angels, and then the brothers, and then back at the Angels again. Suddenly, his jaw dropped as he zeroed in on his sister. "You're kidding, right? Wait: before you answer that, let me just get Rob's shrink on the Speed Dial. See if he can give you an emergency appointment."

Bobby was exasperated. He was an intelligent man, but he hadn't really been included in a lot of the discussions this group had had about Vincent, or his kids. "What the hell are all of you babbling about?" he said irascibly.

"We're not necessarily talking about what these guys think we're talking about," Gail said, somewhat nonsensically.

Bobby levelled her with a withering glare. "Oh. Well, that clears that right up, then."

Gail's lips twitched. "Sorry, Bobby. What I mean is that these guys probably think I'm talking about killing them."

"Well, aren't you?" Sam asked her.

"Like I said, not necessarily," she insisted. "Maybe we should see what's going on over there, and find out if it needs our intervention, or not. And while we're there, we can find out what those 'kids' are up to. If they're helping him create another Reich, I think we can all agree that we need to do something about that. But, you know what? There's an angle we haven't tried, yet." Gail was warming to her subject now. Ever since she'd run that bluff outside the bunker, chasing Damien off with it, Gail had started to wonder in the back of her mind if there might not be something to what she had said, after all. Maybe, if a group of Vincent's own progeny went up against him, they could do some real damage. It was worth a try. They didn't have any other ideas at the moment anyway, did they? At least this was something productive they could do in the meantime.

Gail made her case, and somewhat surprisingly, Bobby was the first one to weigh in. Or at least it was surprising to Gail, because he'd never met Benoit, and he hadn't been along on the Paris Tablet mission.

But Bobby had a point to make, and he made it very well: "Ya know, contrary to what young Rob might believe, I wasn't around for World War Two," their friend said dryly, but with a bit of humour, too. "There were a bunch of guys in my old home town who were, though. Some of them used to drink with my father, at some of the watering holes downtown. He used to bring me there sometimes, when I was a little kid. Not so little that I didn't understand who those guys were and what they stood for, though. At least that was one thing that miserable son of a bitch of a father of mine taught me right. I respected those men, but I was also a little bit scared of them. You could see something just behind their eyes when they looked at you, something more terrifying than the scariest monster we've ever had to kill. You can see it in Hitler's eyes, too, if you watch some of those old news reels. Gail's right. I think you should go there, and if there's business to take care of, you have my full blessing to take care of it. I'll stay in Heaven and do my job, but I'll back you up, if you need me to. There's not gonna be another genocide, not in Europe, or anywhere else. Not on my watch."

Cas was thrilled to hear Bobby speak like this. Like a real leader would. The instant that Gail had brought up the subject, Cas was all in. The idea was extremely appealing to him on a number of different levels, some of them very personal. It had always bothered Cas that Benoit Levesque had managed to slither out of their grasp. And to make it even worse, he'd done so twice: once in Paris, and then again, at the compound. Dr. Roarke had gotten away, too. Roarke. Cas had a very good reason to see that evil Angel dead, and he was certain that no one would fault him for carrying out that particular execution.

But the matter of the offspring was going to be a much more polarizing one, Cas mused to himself. If it could be proven that they were willingly assisting Benoit with his racist agenda, that would almost be the preferable option. All of Vincent's progeny save for Jerry were of legal age or older, so all of them had the ability to form intent. Unless they were being held captive and coerced, there was no excuse. And Cas very much doubted that was the case. From what he'd been given to understand, the individuals in question possessed some formidable powers. After all, that was why they had been taken from the compound in the first place. Would people who had those sorts of talents, for lack of a better term, have been successfully kept in harness for this long, without there being some kind of an incident? No; Cas believed that these people were very willing participants in whatever kind of political operation Levesque was running, over there.

A part of Cas was conflicted, though. If he and Gail and the Winchesters went overseas, did that mean that they were just supposed to cross their fingers and hope that Vincent didn't find the False Prophet while they were gone, to complete the Triad?

Bobby read the look on his lieutenant's face correctly, and he sent a message over their frequency now, assuring Cas that that was another reason Bobby was returning to Heaven. Sooner or later, Gabriel would turn up, and when he did, Bobby was going to press the Archangel into service. Gabe was probably on a bender, or with a woman, or both, Bobby's voice said dryly in Cas's head. He hadn't brought up the whole Beast of the Apocalypse thing out loud out of deference to Sam, and he wasn't mentioning this last little bit about Gabriel out loud in deference to Gail, and her feelings. But everybody was gonna have to get themselves girded up for some straight talk soon, Bobby grumbled, or they were going to have to start passing notes around, like in Study Hall. Ignoring Cas's puzzled expression, Bobby told him he would also get Kevin and some of Heaven's other scholars hitting the books, to see what they could find on the Triad.

Suddenly, Frank's expression morphed into a strange mixture of what looked like curiosity and disgust, both at the same time. Gail was giving her brother the side-eye. "What are you thinking?" she asked him.

"What's the deal with that Demon?" Frank asked the group. "What's her name? Abbadon? What the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Sounds like a Swedish pop group, first thing in the morning. Get it?" he added, tickling his sister.

"Stop it!" she exclaimed, swatting at him.

"It's a long story, Frank," Cas said wearily. "Why do you ask?"

"Humour me," Frank replied calmly.

Dean sighed. He gave Gail's brother a quick synopsis of the experiences they'd had with Abbadon, with Sam and Cas adding a comment or two along the way.

When Dean had finished, Frank sat back in his chair. "Wow," he commented softly. The men waited for the inevitable punchline, but for the moment, Gail's brother had nothing. No jokes, no smartass comments. He'd had no idea about any of that, Frank thought. None. It was one thing to sit around drinking and cracking jokes, but it was another to realize that if things had gone a different way, he and these men might have been bitter enemies. If Cas hadn't made Crowley give Frank back to Gail, and ultimately, to their extended family, it could have been Frank the men sat here being so contemptuous of.

Finally, Gail's brother recovered enough to say, "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I'm not gonna make any jokes right now. What I AM gonna do is..."

He stood abruptly and walked around Gail's chair, to where Cas was sitting. "Can you stand up for a minute?" he asked his brother-in-law.

Cas was puzzled, but he did as Frank requested. Then, Frank surprised him. Gail's brother pulled Cas to him for a big bear hug. "Thanks, Cas," Frank said quietly. "Thanks for everything."

Gail and the rest of the men were looking uncertainly around the table at each other, unsure of how to feel about what they were witnessing now. It was unlike Frank to be so demonstrative.

Cas felt the same way at first, but then Frank pulled out of the embrace and said, "I was a Knight of Hell too, remember? Everybody in this room knows that. I was so far gone that I actually killed you, before my amazing sister brought you back to life. But you not only forgave me, you brought me back, in every sense of the word. Then, all of you accepted me into your circle, when it would have been so easy just to write me off. I met the only woman I've ever loved because of you guys, and we built a life together, raising our kids to be good people once they grew up. And now, Rob has, and Angela is the light of my life, just like her mom was. You did that, Cas. You. I could spend the rest of my life trying to come up with the right words to thank you, and I would never be able to do it right."

Cas's eyes were red-rimmed now. "You just did, Frank," he said softly. "You just did."

There was the sudden sound of a chair being pushed back from the table, and both men made an "Oof" noise as Gail launched herself at both of them. She was sniffling now, as all three of them shared a group hug.

"Awww, geez," Dean said, although his voice was thick when he said it. "Have another drink, Frank."

But then, as the trio were disengaging from the embrace and collecting themselves emotionally, Sam suddenly spoke up. "I need to apologize to everyone," he said in a subdued tone.

Bobby nodded slowly. There. Now, they were finally getting somewhere. He guessed that Sam had been spurred on by the touching scene he'd just witnessed, and Frank's show of honesty and vulnerability.

"What for?" Dean said to his brother. "You thought Damien was your son. You were only trying to protect him."

"Yeah, but I just feel so stupid," Sam insisted stubbornly. "You guys all tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. I just wanted him to be mine so badly that I couldn't let myself believe that he was what you said he was." Sam frowned, his expression sad. "He killed Becky. His own mother. Regardless of how we all feel about her and what her role may or may not have been in all of this, she didn't deserve to die that way."

Cas's lips pressed together briefly. He didn't necessarily agree. From what Gail had told him, Becky had been well aware that Damien was not Sam's child. Whether she had been complicit with Vincent in the boy's conception or not was unclear, but the fact of the matter was that Becky had brought the Beast of the Apocalypse into Castiel and Gail's home, on Christmas Day, passing him off as Sam's son. Some things were unforgivable.

But Becky was gone now, and as Cas, Gail and Frank re-took their seats around the table, Dean poured his brother a hefty shot of whiskey.

"You know, I can't believe I'm about to say this out loud, but there's somebody you guys could call on, if you want to track Vincent down," Frank said, pouring himself another shot as well.

"Who?" Bobby asked Gail's brother curiously. "He's shielded from me, and Rowena tried her best tracking spell. I don't know of anything else we could try. That guy's got some really ancient mojo going on."

"I didn't say we necessarily try to find HIM," Frank remarked.

Dean was puzzled. "Uhh...isn't that what you just said? Like, just now?"

Frank smirked. "Yes...and, no. Dust off that FBI badge, Winchester. I didn't say we have to find HIM, just to track him down. He's in the process of assembling his A-Team, right?"

Cas was bemused. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"OK, so, here's another question for you: what would happen if he lost a key member, before he had them all?" Frank went on.

Cas looked at Frank, startled. After a moment, he said, "Honestly, Frank, I have no idea." The Angel's head was spinning, now. It was such a simple question on the surface, but the implications were enormous. What WOULD happen? Would the apocalyptic event, whatever it might turn out to be, still be able to proceed, if one or more of the Triad were missing from the picture? The topic had never come up, not in any of the theological lessons or discussions that Castiel had ever had, over the millennia.

Frank was smug for a moment, but then, his smile turned genuine. "I'll bet you none of those old-timey Biblical guys, or whoever came up with this stuff, thought of something as devious as what I've got in mind. When you guys were telling me that story about Abbadon, it occurred to me that there's somebody else who would be highly motivated when it comes to getting rid of her, once and for all."

"Don't say it," Dean groaned, but Cas was nodding. Of course. As much as he hated to admit it, Frank was making a very logical point. "Crowley," Cas said tersely.

Dean threw his hands up in the air. "There. You said it."

Frank half-shrugged. "Hey, I know we all hate him, but from everything you've told me, he'd be the best resource in this case. You've heard of 'it takes one to know one'? Well, maybe it takes one to catch one. What do you think?"

Cas looked calmly at Bobby. Their friend scowled. "Fine. I'll request a Summit," God said wearily.

Gail's forehead wrinkled. "If he does have a way to locate her, what do we do, then?" she asked the men.

"Interrogate her, to begin with," Cas replied softly.

They were all silent for another minute. Everyone sitting around the table knew what Cas wasn't saying, because everyone who was sitting around the table had done what Cas was alluding to, at one time or another.

Finally, Frank finished his drink and set the glass down on the table. Dean gestured with the bottle, but Gail's brother shook his head. "Nahhh, I'd better hit it. My alarm guy is coming over in the morning."

"Your what what?" Gail asked her brother, puzzled.

Frank grinned. "I've got a guy coming in tomorrow, to put one of those state-of-the-art sensor alarm systems in the house. That way, I'll be able to bust Dean, the next time he slips the lock to raid my kitchen."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey, if you want to know who's eating you out of house and home, look no further than that six-foot beanstalk you've got living there. Maybe his girlfriend likes to eat, too."

Cas was agitated. "Frank, if you feel your home needs extra protection, we would be glad to - "

But his brother-in-law interrupted him, shaking his head. "Look, Cas, I appreciate what you're getting at, but it's not Vincent I'm thinking about. If he was gonna mess with us, he'd have done it, already. And if you guys are right, and hurting his kids hurts him, I've got the best insurance policy for that, right there in the place. Rob's his son, too, as much as I hate to acknowledge that, out loud. But, last time I looked, Alice was a human," he added pointedly.

Cas and Gail exchanged glances, frowning. Frank was right, of course. Not all of the individuals who were a danger to their family were otherworldly beings. Now that a bit of the smoke had cleared from the confrontation with Damien, Gail realized that was actually her biggest regret about that excursion to Marie's place. If she had been able to bring Alice back with her, then...what? What would they have done with the woman? Turned her in to the police? Right. Sure. And just what kind of evidence did they have, proving that Alice had killed anybody?

"Don't worry, I'll call you guys if we need backup," Frank went on, rising from his chair. "I think we're gonna be OK. It's just a precaution. I really doubt she's gonna sneak into the house one night, like a cat burglar. But if she did, me and Rob have got a plan in place. We've already talked about it. And Suzanne's training is coming along nicely. Actually, I was gonna ask you guys if it's okay to bring her here to the workout room once in a while, to start practicing with those fake weapons you've got. Remember those, kiddo?" he added, looking at Gail.

She smiled fondly. "I sure do." Then, she laughed. "What a weird family we are."

Frank laughed, too. "Yeah, I see your point," he remarked. Then he walked around the table to where Sam was. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am about the way things turned out," Gail's brother said to the younger Winchester. "You deserved better, Sam. Any kid would be lucky to have you for a father."

Tears prickled at Sam's eyes as he stood up from his chair. "Thanks, Frank. Thanks a lot. That means a lot to me," Sam said softly.

The men shared a brief hug, and then Frank turned to Gail. "Come on, kiddo, take me home."

Once the brother and sister were back at his house, Frank looked at Gail, his expression grim. "Promise me you'll be careful over there in France, okay?"

She gave him a half-shrug. "Yeah. Sure. I always am."

Frank put his hands on her shoulders. "Listen, kiddo. I know you feel pretty invincible these days, because you've got your Angel thing going on, and I know you know how to fight, and - "

"And, I have Cas, and Dean, and Sam, and all of you, looking out for me," Gail reassured him, nodding. "Thanks for what you said to Cas, by the way. I know that meant a lot to him. It meant a lot to me, too." Then, because they were who they were, Gail poked her brother in the stomach. "Hey, what's with all this sentimental stuff, all of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden? What do you mean? I've always been sentimental," Frank objected.

"Is that your story?" she said, her lips twitching.

"Well, OK, maybe not," her brother admitted. "But it's never too late to change, right? Look at how much YOU'VE changed."

Gail raised an eyebrow. "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" she asked him teasingly.

"It's a good thing," Frank reassured her. "Now get lost, and let me get some sleep."

She laughed. "So much for sentiment, I guess."

Frank grinned. "Yeah, well, it's a process." He chucked her under the chin. "Now, go get that Nazi bastard, rescue our buddy Michelle, and bring me back some good cheese. But watch out for those kids of Vincent's, OK? Rob told me about some of the stuff that went on in that compound. I know you're an Angel, and I know you can fight, but from what I heard, some of those kids can kill people without even laying a finger on them."

Gail was silent for a moment, thinking about what Frank was saying. She knew he had a point, because she'd seen some fairly disturbing things in the compound. Things that might have ended up being extremely deadly, if they hadn't been operating in such a controlled environment. It was true that she and Cas were Angels, but they occupied vessels that were subject to the laws of physicality, didn't they? What if there was a fire, or an explosion, and their essences were trapped inside their vessels? What then? Ricky had been capable of lighting people on fire, just by looking at them. Jason was a vampire, and he'd been reduced to ashes in seconds, when Ricky had gotten angry at him. Yeah, they'd better not get too overconfident. Any of them.

"I'll call you before we leave," Gail told her brother, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. Frank nodded, giving her a squeeze.

Moments later, she was gone.


	5. People Like Us

BOOK 2 – FRENCH IMMERSION (PRINTEMPS)

Chapter 1 – People Like Us

Gerard was sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for his father to come in from his home office. Benoit had informed his son that he was going to make more of an effort to spend a little more time together, even if it was just to eat a meal and talk to each other for a few minutes. The demands of the Presidential office were such that his father didn't have much time to spare, but Benoit shouldn't use that as an excuse. Gerard was his son, and he should make time for him, the President told the boy. Besides, his father had teased, their carefree bachelor days were just about at an end. Soon, Benoit and Michelle would be married, and Gerard would have a mother. Wasn't he looking forward to that?

Actually, Gerard was. His father had no idea how much. The boy was no longer the innocent little child Benoit had adopted, but he still led a very sheltered life. He was beginning his adolescence, now. Ever since being taken from the compound, Gerard had been cloistered here in Benoit's mansion, with very little human contact, to speak of. The formula that Dr. Roarke had developed to keep the boy's powers in check had worked wonders, but still, to this day, the staff members who had been in Monsieur Levesque's employ since his adopted son's arrival avoided little Jerry, whenever possible. New staff members, as few as they were, learned pretty quickly not to go out of their way to spend time in the boy's company, even if they were unsure as to why. As a result, Gerard was lonely and restless. Benoit had been unwilling to send the boy to private school, because of the potential havoc his powers could cause. So his son had a computer, and shelves and shelves of reference books, but the boy had never had any formal education. He was precocious, though, and fairly bright, despite his limited opportunities.

When Gerard's father wasn't around, which was most of the time, Gerard spent his time reading, surfing the net, and playing by himself on the grounds of the mansion. But all of this was about to change, and soon. Soon, he would have a companion: Maman Michelle. Benoit had assured his son that his new bride, Gerard's new stepmother, would be spending a lot of her time at home, doing fund-raising for various charities. Gerard had been over the moon to hear that. He had only met Michelle a couple of times, but she had been kind to him, playing games with him, and making him cookies. Not that remarkable in the larger scheme of things, but to a child as starved for companionship and affection as Gerard was, it was a big deal. Maybe she would even take him to the city, once in a while. He had seen photos of the Eiffel Tower online. Wouldn't it be neat to go up there, and look out at the city? Maybe they could even go as a family, all three of them. Gerard knew that his father was very busy running the country, but Maman Michelle had been able to persuade his Papa to take the occasional day off when she'd been here before.

Yes, everything was going to change once Gerard's father and Michelle got married, and it was going to change for the better. There was only one thing that could be a problem, but Gerard was already taking steps to take care of that. One day just recently, he had overheard a couple of the kitchen staff talking about the special medicine that was to be added to the child's juice every morning, and to his glass of milk in the evening. It was vitally important, the older woman had told the new employee. It kept the boy calm.

Gerard had been taken aback for a moment, but then he'd thought about it and realized what was going on, here. At first, he'd thought it was a good thing. Truthfully, Jerry's powers had scared even him, sometimes. It seemed like every time he got upset, someone got hurt. A few years ago, one of the girls who had volunteered to tuck him into bed had ended up gravely wounded, simply because the child had been angry at his Papa for working so much. After that, even though Gerard still got agitated from time to time, there had been no further incidents of that nature.

But, as glad as Gerard was that nobody else had been hurt, he had also realized that the medicine they'd been giving him was the reason he felt so sleepy, for so much of the time. The last time Maman Michelle had been here, he had nodded off a few minutes after she had made them a big bowl of popcorn and put on a movie. The next thing Gerard knew, he was waking up in his bed the next morning, and his Papa told him over breakfast that Michelle had gone back to America. Then his Papa had left for work, and Gerard had been left alone to eat, as usual.

He'd felt terrible about missing out on such a rare family night, and then, when Gerard had made the connection between feeling so lethargic and the medicine they had apparently been giving him this whole time, he'd known what he had to do. After all, Gerard was about to have his prayers answered. He was going to get a mother.

He'd had a biological mother, of course, but she had been uninterested in motherhood, to say the least. "April" was the name she'd used, but no one knew the woman's real name, not even Jerry. Vincent probably hadn't, either. The only thing the Voodoo Priest had been interested in was how attractive the woman had been. She had reminded him of Placida, in a way, without the sense of entitlement. Vincent had known how April earned her living, and though he was hardly one to judge, he probably wouldn't have trifled with the woman under normal circumstances. A guy like Vincent could get any woman he wanted to do pretty much anything he wanted. But one night, he'd seen something that had made him change his mind. April had been standing on a street corner, waiting for the light to change. A man had driven by in a car with the windows rolled down and whistled at her, calling her a whore. April had calmly watched the car roll down the street for a moment, and then suddenly, it had burst into flames. April had smiled widely, and then continued on her merry way. Vincent had been intrigued, to say the least. So he had followed April home and seduced her, and nine months later, little Jerry had come along. Since April had had no interest in being a mother, she had dumped the baby outside the front door of the free clinic she used sometimes, and kept on going. And by the time Jerry had been brought to the compound, he had been passed from foster home to foster home, like a radioactive football.

As he had grown from infanthood, Jerry had not grown in maturity, though. He had never quite been able to make the connection between the fact that he had never been able to stay in one home for very long, and the fact that people tended to sustain serious injuries every time the boy became upset. Even now, all that Gerard could think about was his desire to finally have a real family.

So when the girl who brought him his breakfast had left the kitchen area to go on her break, Gerard took his orange juice in there and dumped the liquid down the sink. Then he poured another glass for himself from the pitcher, and by the time his Papa sat down at the dining room table, Gerard was already halfway through his meal. And he was smiling.

Sam had been doing some Internet research on Benoit Levesque, and when the group stopped by Frank's house before going overseas, the younger Winchester was telling everyone what he had found out about the man's background, and his politics.

"He's done an excellent job of whitewashing his past, no pun intended," Sam said dryly. He'd been grateful to have this mission to focus on, right now. The more research Sam was able to do, the less opportunity his mind had to wander. Bobby and Cas had combined to take the sharpest edges off of Sam's memory of Damien, but he still felt as if a piece of himself was missing. It didn't do any good for the younger Winchester to remind himself that Damien wasn't actually his son. For the longest time, ever since Becky had stood up at Cas and Gail's house following Christmas dinner and announced that she was having his baby, Sam had been operating under that premise. He'd done so much planning and anticipating for a time when Damien, or as Sam had known him, Brian, would be old enough to do things with. Teach stuff to. But now, none of that would ever happen. Sam was in mourning for the loss of a son who had never even been his, in the first place. How did you work your way through THAT kind of thing?

By doing the things that he did best, Sam supposed. "There's no mention in any of his official biographies about Les Rebelles Blancs," Sam went on. "The only thing I was able to find was one of those blind items in the tabloids, hinting around about it. So then I dug deeper, and I found one report that Levesque was accused of being the mastermind of that group in a press conference once, when he was running for office. He denied it, of course, and the reporter who brought up the subject went missing after the press conference."

"Well, isn't that convenient," Frank said sarcastically. "I guess the guy did Nazi that coming, did he?"

Silence. No one really felt like joking about the subject, least of all the four of them who had infiltrated the white supremacist organization.

"There aren't too many details about his background," Sam continued, "and what there is available to read here sounds like a canned press release. Born to wealthy parents, went to private school, ran the family business. Inherited millions when his parents died, ran for office because he wanted to make a difference, blah, blah, blah."

"Did it cause a Fuhrer when he announced he was running for President?" Frank piped up again, and Gail let out a frustrated breath.

"Could you just...not?" she exclaimed irritably. "You're not being funny, you're being insensitive."

"Really?" her brother retorted. "To who? The Nazis? Is it more politically correct to call them white supremacists? How about pigmental objectionists, then?"

"That's enough, Frank," Cas said wearily. "Please."

Mercifully, Gail's brother stood down for the moment. He'd only been doing what he always did, using black humour to try to defuse the tension in the room. But he hadn't been there with them, Gail thought, giving Frank a baleful stare. He hadn't seen and heard all of the hateful things that Benoit's group had done and said. No, it wasn't funny. Not at all.

"It's not even clear how old this guy is," Sam pressed on. "The propoganda says he's 50, but I find that hard to believe. He looked at least that old when we knew him."

"I'm sure he must be older than that," Henri chipped in. Cas had asked their Angel friend to come, to see if there was anything he could contribute to the intel they were attempting to gather. "I spent years compiling information on him and his group, and when I started, he looked the same as he does now. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he's got a water cooler set up in his office that dispenses water from the Fountain of Youth," Henri added, shaking his head.

Cas and Gail exchanged sharp glances at that. It was obvious that Henri was only being facetious, but what he'd said sounded a little too much like Vincent for their liking.

"You're right, Sam; he must have spread a nice pile of that so-called 'family money' around, to suppress a lot of things in his background," Henri mused. "Levesque's father was a known racist, but even though the man was on public record as an anti-Semite who practiced Petainism, there's no mention of that in any of those biographies."

"'Petainism'? What's that?" Dean inquired.

Henri smiled grimly. "It's a long story, and we're not really here for a history lesson. Suffice to say, it means ultra, ultra conservative. Basically, those people have the viewpoint that: If it ain't white, it ain't right. They're against...well, pretty much everything. Gay marriage, abortion, womens' rights, you name it. The only thing they're in favour of is the death penalty. But only for minorities, of course."

They were all silent again, digesting this. If these were the ideologies that Benoit had grown up being taught, no wonder he was the way he was, now. It was a little hard to believe that someone who held such repugnant beliefs had not only been allowed to run for the highest office in the land, but had been elected to it, the humans and the Angels remarked. Henri said nothing, but he didn't necessarily agree. Looking at the situation from the viewpoint of a person whose skin was a different colour than theirs, to Henri, it made perfect sense. France had been besieged by terrorist attacks in recent years, and the government that had been in place before Benoit had come along had seemed powerless to stop them. Then along had come a fresh face, talking plainly, pointing a finger at the immigrants and telling the people that he had a concrete plan in place to put an end to the violence. And, lest the prospective voters think him to be a racist, Monsieur Levesque would then parade his young black son in front of the press corps. Yes, Henri could understand it all too well.

That was pretty much all the information that they had been able to come up with on Benoit Levesque, and after some discussion, it was determined that it would be impossible to do anything to stop him. Not by using legal means, anyway. There was absolutely no evidence of any wrongdoing, on his part. Likewise, there was no way that they were going to be able to convince Michelle not to marry the man; not on their say-so, alone. The only thing they could do would be to go to France, and attempt...what? None of them were sure, exactly. Could they expose his true beliefs to the public, somehow? Prevent Michelle from marrying him? Or should they consider a more radical solution?

Rob and Gail had sat down with the files, to try to definitively establish the identities of Vincent's offspring who were in Benoit's service. There was little Jerry, of course, who was the child that Benoit had trotted out in public, seemingly whenever the hint of racism had arisen. Jerry would be an adolescent, now. The others who they had been able to identify were young adults, in the 18-30 year old range. These individuals had all tested well in the compound when it came to various talents, Gail advised the group. The trouble was, she had the feeling they'd only scratched the surface when it had come to assessing those abilities. They had better be prepared.

"For what?" Dean asked her, and Gail looked at him for a moment.

"For anything," she said grimly.

Jillian and Benoit were in his office at work, having a chat about his upcoming wedding. It was a mystery to Jillian: why on earth would a wealthy, seemingly independent woman such as Michelle Delacroix fly across the ocean to marry a man like her boss? The staff had all met the future First Lady, of course, and she seemed like a nice enough woman. But Jillian had the feeling that Benoit's fiancee really had no idea what she was getting herself into. It was none of the young woman's business, though. She was pretty much indifferent about the whole thing. The instant that Jillian's foster father had molested her for the first time, any hopes or dreams she may have harboured in her naïve little childish heart about romance had been crushed under the heel of the man's work boot. Jillian's childhood traumas had followed her into young adulthood, and she was a bitter and spiteful person, as a result.

Benoit had been able to identify that quality in her, and he knew exactly how to exploit it. As he had promised the girl, once Levesque was elected he had relieved her of her duties at the reception desk and given her a much more important role to play in his administration. Whenever the President held a rally, made a public speech, or had a press conference, he made sure to have Jillian circulating among the crowd. Then, as Levesque revealed the latest step in his aim to rid his country of the vermin once and for all, Jillian would discreetly touch some of the onlookers at random and they would call out, supporting his initiatives. So far, it had worked like a charm. Those people who she had touched were backing Benoit to the hilt, but as his policies became more and more objectionable, the President would have to see just how influential Jillian's powers could be.

Vincent had done ritual after ritual to try to find the False Prophet, but so far, the results had been underwhelming. All he had been able to see was a large, wooden cross, and a whole lot of trees. Great. Big deal. Not exactly earth-shaking. The sight of the cross wasn't particularly surprising; whoever the guy was, he obviously practiced some kind of religion, as perverted as it might be. That didn't bother Vincent. Strictly speaking, Voodoo was a religion, too. He would just have to keep at it.

One bright spot was that he had Damien back in the fold, now. At first, Vincent had been taken aback at the sudden poolside appearance by his son, and then, he had been annoyed. Hadn't the object been to infiltrate the God Squad? But then, Damien had told his father how the whole thing had fallen apart, piece by piece, until the situation had become untenable. He probably embellished the story a little, but not that much. And after his initial flash of anger, Vincent realized he shouldn't have been too surprised. This was a game they were playing, after all. How much fun would it be if the score was too lopsided?

So Vincent had welcomed Damien back by pouring the boy a drink of the overproofed rum the island featured, diluting it with cola. Many people would probably disapprove of a nine-year-old boy being introduced to alcohol, but Vincent didn't give a damn. He had some time to kill while he tried to figure out where the Prophet was, and Damien was his son, after all. Vincent planned on introducing the boy to a lot of things. Once the Prophet was located and joined the team, Papa Legba wanted Damien to be able to use his power to its full potential.

"To God," Vincent toasted, startling Abbadon, who had come out from the cabana to greet Damien. She toasted, but raised her eyebrows while she was doing it.

Vincent laughed. "Hey, I have to hand it to the guy. Point to Bobby. That's OK; I'll let him have this one. Now, drink up. We'll have a barbecue on the beach tonight. Eat, drink and be merry, kid," he added, lifting his glass to Damien. "Tonight, you become a man."

Damien grinned. Now, this was more like it.

Kim was standing in front of the mirror in the Executive washroom, practicing. He could pretty much morph into anyone he wanted to, now. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, and a minute later, he was a short Filipino woman, with a bamboo purse in the crook of her arm.

One of the cabinet members came into the mens' room, and he did a double-take upon seeing Kim. The young man laughed. Then, his fellow cabinet member looked at the symbol on the door, making Kim laugh even harder.

The young man morphed back into his original form. "Sorry; I was just having a little fun," he told the man.

Pierre shook his head slowly. Never in a million years had he ever thought that he would be seeing some of the things he'd seen here. As one of the inner circle, Pierre Tetriault was privy to more things than most, so he knew that Benoit had brought some young people here with him from the United States, and that they had special abilities. But what he was witnessing now was out of the realm of science fiction. Not for the first time, Pierre wondered what the hell kind of cabinet Monsieur Levesque had assembled. He himself was a straight-arrow politician, a longtime Nationalist. Pierre had known and admired Benoit's father, and he regarded the son just as favourably. It was high time that someone actually took action against the filthy immigrants that were invading the country Pierre loved so much.

With one more look at Kim, Monsieur Tetriault moved to the urinal. "We have that press conference in five minutes," he said in a businesslike tone. "Monsieur Levesque wants us all there, as a show of solidarity."

Kim rolled his eyes. The humourless old fuddy-duddy. But he knew that Benoit had to have some older people in his government, because there were a lot of old-school voters who didn't trust anyone under 50. "OK, I'll be right there," he told the man. "I just have to...you know." He gestured to the urinal. "This is one advantage we have over women, right?"

Pierre stared at the young man for a moment. Kim was back to his usual appearance now, a young Asian man wearing a shirt and tie. At least Benoit had his young staff members dressing properly for the office, anyway.

The older man relieved himself and then left the washroom. Kim let out the laugh he'd been holding in, then followed suit a moment later.

Benoit stood at the podium, facing the members of the press. He had just unveiled the plan to have all of the immigrants that had come into the country tattooed, identifying them as such. He and his cabinet had discussed this late last year, but the logistics had taken a while to iron out. Now, the program was ready to go, and Benoit's intention was to be transparent about it. He knew that there was going to be some controversy regarding the program. Some of the members of his own cabinet had even expressed a distaste for the procedure. But it was Benoit who was the President, and he meant to implement it.

Predictably, there was a fair amount of commotion among the press corps, although probably not as much as there should have been. Jillian was weaving in and out of the assembled group, doing her thing.

But Eileen was in the back of the room, and she was livid. Her sister Cecile was standing along the wall with the other cabinet members, playing her part, and they exchanged a quick glance. Cecile had warned Eileen that this was coming, but the leader of the Resistance was still outraged. She elbowed the reporter next to her, signing furiously.

Charles wasn't a member of Eileen's group, per se, but he was definitely a sympathizer. Because he was a journalist, though, he had to appear to be impartial. But the announcement had outraged him, as well.

"Those are just concentration camp tattoos, called by a different name!" Eileen fumed, her fingers flying. "Get him to admit it! I should know; most of my family died in those camps!"

Charles nodded to placate her. Yes, he knew that. But he also knew that it would be career suicide to say so out loud. Still, he wouldn't be doing his job properly if he didn't say something. So, he called out: "Aren't you concerned that what you're talking about sounds like - "

Benoit was way ahead of him. "No, they're not like concentration camp tattoos, Monsieur Dallaire," he said calmly. The calmer his tone, the more hysterical anyone who shouted would sound. "That is what you were going to allege, is it not?" the President added. He was a big believer in the pre-emptive strike. It was a tried-and-true way to take the sting out of any accusation.

"I can address your concerns, Charles," Benoit continued. He made it a point to learn as many of their names as he could. "The situation is completely different. The mark that we are proposing wouldn't be visible to the naked eye. Therefore, we aren't infringing upon anyone's civil rights. Designated government representatives will carry hand-held units that can scan the mark, under a special light. So you see, that's not the same thing, at all. It's just so that we know who these people are, and where they are. The system is for everyone's protection."

Eileen's hands were moving again. "Yeah?" she signed to Charles furiously. "What kind of sense does that even MAKE? What's the difference who they are, or where they are? If they're not criminals, they have the right to be anywhere they damn well please!" Oh, how she wished she wasn't deaf right now, Eileen thought fervently. There would be nothing she would love better than to stand in the middle of the room and rail at that Nazi bastard. But, strictly speaking, she wasn't even supposed to be here. Charles had brought her in here with him, and when the guards at the door had asked for her press credentials, she had looked at them blankly, and then began signing with her hands. They had given up on her then, and Eileen had smirked. Being deaf was a double-edged sword, sometimes. But, just why were there guards at a press conference, anyway? What was this, The Sound Of Music, or something?

Charles had been just about the rephrase Eileen's remarks more diplomatically for the President to address when another reporter spoke up: "Well, I think it's a terrific idea," Maxime said firmly. Jillian had passed by the woman a moment ago, deliberately joggling the reporter's arm. "It's about time we took control of our own country," Maxime continued. "I walk downtown along the Champs Elysees, and there they are, those Muslims with their prayer rugs, kneeling in the square. I don't even feel like I live in Paris, any more."

The room erupted then, half of the people in it objecting to what she'd just said, and the other half lending their support to it. Benoit looked down at them all from his podium, and he was amused. It was amazing what people would accept, especially once the thing was presented as a fait accompli. For every person Jillian had touched, infusing that individual with hateful thoughts, there were others who she hadn't laid a finger on who were also parroting Maxime's racist rhetoric. Benoit didn't have to say another word; his constituents were speaking volumes. At one point, the President and his cabinet had discussed just how easy it would be to persuade the good people of France to vote for a literal nuclear option, in the instance of some of the countries that were considered to be a threat to the Western world. Almost too easy, they had agreed. France had nuclear capability, as did many other countries, these days. Secretly, Benoit had briefly and seriously considered that as an option. But, in the end, it was entirely too risky. Some other country might involve themselves, and retaliate. Like most bullies, Benoit was at heart a craven coward, who only really cared about his own skin. As President, he knew he would be taken care of, but he did not want to lose everything he had so carefully built. It was best just to stick with the original plan.

Benoit excused himself, leaving the podium abruptly. The reporters scarcely noticed.


	6. That's What They Say

Chapter 2 – That's What They Say

Toby was at the warehouse assisting Dr. Roarke at the same time as the press conference was wrapping up. He was an unofficial member of Benoit's cabinet, but it had been mutually established a while back that Toby's talents lay elsewhere. He was the young man who was able to make everyday objects into weapons, and it was remarkable what he could conjure up if he was happy and comfortable. Toby was a one-man assembly line. As long as he wasn't feeling pressured, he found that he was able to work all day, manufacturing guns, knives, and bombs. Dr. Roarke left him to his own devices, for the most part. Toby worked better alone, anyway.

But today, Toby couldn't help but note the flurry of activity that was taking place on the warehouse floor. There were mesh cages being brought in by a forklift and placed on the floor in rows, up and down in a straight line. Hmm. That was weird.

Oh, well. It wasn't really any of Toby's business. Dr. Roarke was a weird dude. He was probably going to bring in some animals, and test some of his formulas on them. Roarke was like the original mad scientist, always cooking up some kind of potion. They had no idea what the hell the guy was doing for Benoit, or how the two of them had even hooked up in the first place. Toby had tested under Jason back in that compound, and then the next thing he knew, he was being whisked away to France. He hadn't really cared. He had lived alone, prior to coming to the compound. He'd never had a family, not even a pet, to care for, or who cared about him. But now, at least he had a purpose.

Cas and Gail had winked Sam and Dean to Paris instead of flying, so that they could bring an array of weapons. Since none of them had known precisely what they would be dealing with, Dean had pretty much packed everything but the bunker's kitchen sink.

Once the quartet had gotten settled into their hotel rooms, they re-congregated in the lobby. "Michelle said she's sending a car to pick us up," Dean told the Angels.

Ms. Delacroix had been delighted to hear from him. She'd meant what she had said about inviting the group to the wedding. It would be nice to have a few people sitting on the bride's side in the church, she had commented lightly. The Delacroix family might be wealthy and well-connected, but they were also extremely dysfunctional. There wasn't one single person she was related to that Michelle actually wanted at her wedding, she confessed sheepishly. And their arrival from America had been a godsend, the bride-to-be added. All of the wedding arrangements had already been made, and now there was nothing to do but wait. Would they like to see some sights, in the meantime? As the prospective First Lady, Michelle had certain things at her disposal; she could send a car from Ben's fleet to come and pick them up. Unfortunately, her fiance was a little too busy to meet her American friends right now, but they could make each others' acquaintances at the wedding.

They'd all exchanged glances when Dean had mentioned that last part. Yeah. Right. Benoit knew exactly who they were, and vice versa. A consensus still had not been reached regarding how they were going to deal with the man, or with Vincent's offspring, either. Now that they were here, it was agreed that they would try to draw out as much information as they could about Levesque from Michelle, and then go from there.

Once arriving at Michelle's hotel suite, the five of them had a drink together, discussing what sorts of things they would all like to see.

"You know what I'd really like to visit?" Sam said to the group. He glanced doubtfully at Dean. Sam was pretty sure he knew how this was going to go over with his big brother. "The Louvre."

"Oh, that's an excellent idea, Sam," Cas enthused. "I saw a pamphlet in our room that mentioned they're featuring an exhibit on the ancient Kingdoms of the Hittite Empire. That should be fascinating."

Dean's mouth tightened, but he said nothing. Gail was watching him with amusement. She knew that art museums really weren't his thing. But curiously, he wasn't raising an objection. Maybe the elder Winchester had just decided to give Sam this one. So many times when they'd gone places before, they had ended up doing what Dean wanted to do. When they had been here before on that Tablet mission, Sam had accompanied Dean to Jim Morrison's grave, even though Sam hadn't been too enthused about it. Maybe Dean was realizing that the scales were usually tipped in his own favour, or maybe he was being magnanimous due to Sam's recent heartache over Damien. In any event, the agreement was reached, and off the group went to The Louvre.

As they rode there in the limousine, Michelle was smiling at her guests. "I'm so glad you suggested this, Sam," she said to the younger Winchester. "I have to confess, I've never been to The Louvre. The only things I know about the place are that it's the world's largest art museum, and it's a historical landmark in its own right."

"It was the Louvre Castle in the 12th and 13th Centuries, and was once the main residence of French Kings," Cas told them. Because of course, he had been there, then. "During the French Revolution, it was transformed into a public museum."

"Wow, I'd better step up my research game," Sam said lightly. "About the only thing I know about the place is that it's located on the Right Bank of the Seine. Oh, and that there are approximately 38,000 exhibits on display at any given time. The museum gets over ten million visitors per year."

Dean stirred, muttering something about it being his opinion that if they got THAT many customers, they could do without his money, and Gail elbowed him.

"If I may," the chauffeur, Luc, chimed in, "I will also add that during the reign of Napoleon, many of the museum's acquisitions were the spoils of war, looted from other European countries. So, there are many different styles of art represented. There are many famous pieces, ones most people have heard of, even if they aren't art lovers."

"Such as?" Michelle asked him.

Luc smiled proudly. "Apropos to the upcoming event, we have The Wedding At Cana."

Dean was puzzled. "Wedding pictures? I thought this stuff was old-timey art. Like, sculptures, and things."

"Oh, there are many of those there, too," Luc responded cheerfully. "The Venus de Milo, for instance."

Dean perked up. "Now, THAT one, I know," he remarked. "That's that chick with two boobs, but no arms, right?" Gail elbowed him again, and he rubbed the spot. "Oww! Too bad you weren't the model for that," the elder Winchester complained, and Gail laughed.

"The Wedding At Cana is a very old painting," Luc persisted. "It was commissioned in the 1500s. It depicts Jesus, changing jugs of water into wine at Cana, which was a city near Bethlehem."

"Galilee," Cas corrected the chauffeur absently.

Luc gave their Angel friend a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Fine. Whatever. He sighed. There was always one of those kinds of guys in any group, wasn't there? Guys who thought they knew everything. But these were Americans; he wouldn't be surprised if they were all that way. They were friends of Mademoiselle Michelle's though, and she was soon to be the President's wife, so Luc let it pass.

Cas was oblivious. He wore a faint smile on his face now, remembering what a joyous day that had been. He gave Gail's hand a gentle squeeze. Hopefully one day soon, once the scourges that were Benoit and Vincent and their ilk were removed from the Earth, he and Gail would be able to have another wedding, and then a sumptuous feast, afterwards. It had been his intention for the two of them to have renewed their vows, by now. They'd had their little ceremony in the backyard of their Earth home shortly after her marriage to Dean had been annulled, but Cas had wanted her to have something on a grander scale. Their family had had so much hardship lately, with very little celebration. Even their Christmas had been tainted by the arrival of Becky and Damien, and of Gail's Uncle Andy's attempted suicide. Apparently, Andy was doing well, though. Prior to coming to France, Cas and Gail had paid a visit to the mental hospital where Andy had remained incarcerated since Christmas. After receiving Andy' permission to search his mind, Cas had been able to determine that Gail's uncle was completely cured of his mental illness. Then, he and Gail had spoken to Kay, who had been going there to visit Andy, each and every day. It was obvious to the Angels that she and Andy were in love, and it had done their hearts good to see that some stories did have happy endings, even though this particular one had been many years in the making. So Cas and Gail had decided to break their usual non-interference rule, and Andy had been released into Kay's custody, after the Angels had visited Dr. Gatling and performed the necessary modification. Her uncle and his lady friend had placed Andy's little house on the market and were currently fielding offers. He had been astonished to find out how much the place was currently listing for. Of course, it didn't hurt that Gail had cut a swath through the house, using every ounce of cleaning power her blade had in it. They had never mentioned this particular little item to her uncle, but Gail had half-joked that she expected a great big present from the two of them, next Christmas.

"So, Cas, maybe you can settle the age-old argument for us, once and for all," Sam joked, breaking the Angel out of his reverie. "Who WAS the model for the Mona Lisa, anyway?"

Luc looked sharply at the younger Winchester. What the - ? Then it occurred to him that this man called Cas must be an art expert. That was the only explanation the chauffeur could think of for that particular question. Everyone knew that it had never been definitively confirmed, though many art lovers had their own opinions on the subject.

Cas did know the answer to the question, and he knew it first-hand. But he also knew that Sam had only been joking, and this was hardly the context for that conversation, so he remained silent on the subject. However, there was something else on his mind. He leaned forward from his position behind the chauffeur.

"How long have you been in Benoit Levesque's employ?" Cas asked Luc.

"Ever since his father died," the chauffeur replied, and the tone of pride crept back into his voice now. "Monsieur Levesque was a good man, and so is his son. He's the best President France has ever had."

"Is that so?" Cas said casually, but he was doing the slow burn now. He and Sam had done a fair amount of research into France's politics before they had come here, and what they had found out had made the group both angry and afraid.

Predictably enough, Cas had been more angry than anything else. The entire situation felt very personal to him. He had allowed Benoit to wriggle free when they had been here on the Tablet mission, because the priority at that time had been ridding the Earth of Lucifer. But now, the man had been allowed to imbed himself in the highest office in the land, much like a tumour will attach itself to an organ in the human body. Cas wondered how many deaths Benoit had been responsible for, so far. Even one was too many, but at least it seemed as though there was still time to prevent out-and-out genocide.

But there was another reason the situation felt like such an affront to Cas, although he would have no way of knowing what it was. When God had punished them as severely as He had following their quest to Mount Kilimanjaro to obtain the Book of Life, their Father had erased everyone's memories of the entire incident. But that went even further, when it came to Castiel. God had erased his memory of having killed Hitler, back at the time of the Second World War. Therefore, Cas had extremely strong feelings on the subject, but no context upon which to explain the intense personal nature of them.

Cas leaned back in his seat in the limousine now, lips pursed tightly together.

"I understand that the museum had to hide or move most of the important artworks during World War II, so the Nazis wouldn't steal them," Luc said innocently, completely unaware of what Cas had been thinking. "Then when France was liberated in 1945, everything began to return to us. Monsieur Martin Levesque, the President's father, was very happy to receive some of the treasures he had loaned to the curator, shortly thereafter. But after he died, his son sold quite a few of the artworks, or donated them, outright. He said it wasn't right for him to keep them, when they should be enjoyed by the public."

Cas frowned deeply. "From what I'm given to understand, records indicate that there are quite a few pieces that were stolen by the Nazis which have remained unclaimed, to this day. Statistics show that at least 35 percent of those were Jewish-owned," he said in a clipped tone.

The occupants of the car fell silent again. Mon dieu, whoever that guy was, he was certainly sensitive, Luc thought. Fortunately, they arrived at the museum a few minutes later. Everyone got out, and Michelle told Luc she would call him when they were ready to be picked up.

They'd toured the place for a while, and Dean's eyes were starting to glaze over. Paintings, sculptures, vases, pottery, and stained glass. He guessed it was all fairly impressive, but everything was starting to blend together for him now, into one big pile of boring crap.

Gail nudged him then, and even though it wasn't her bony elbow for a change, Dean wheeled on her. "What?" he said testily.

"Look." She pointed. "Sam and Cas were asking about Spanish and Italian paintings, and look where they are."

Dean looked to where she was pointing. "The Demon Wing!" Gail exclaimed. Dean looked at the sign again. "Uhhh...that says 'Denon Wing'," Dean said dryly. "Are you sure you don't need glasses, there, Griselda?"

She shrugged. "Hey, I got your attention, didn't I? You were getting that glazed chicken look on your face."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you expect? How many more of these stupid things do we have to look at?"

"Hey, Michelle," Sam said, beckoning to their friend. "Here's a painting by Eugene Delacroix. Relative of yours?"

She smiled. "Obviously, this man did something productive with his life, so I'd say, probably not."

Dean smirked. No matter how bored he was, Michelle could be counted on for some laughs. Gail had told him and Sam how well she and Frank had gotten along in New Orleans, and Dean wasn't too surprised. It was too bad she was engaged to a Nazi; otherwise, maybe Michelle and Frank could go out, sometime. But then, he felt bad. It had been a while since Jody had passed, and no one would blame Frank if he wanted to date another woman. Probably not even Jody. But Frank didn't seem to have any interest in stuff like that. Dean guessed he could understand. Ever since Nicole had turned down Dean's proposal and told him he was free to date whoever he wanted, Dean had found that he didn't really want to date anyone else. Funny how that worked, sometimes. Maybe he was finally growing up, the elder Winchester thought wryly. And maybe, it was about time. He still had that ring in his bureau drawer at the bunker, didn't he?

Grown up or not, that didn't mean that Dean couldn't still be immature, though. Cas looked at his friend, raising an eyebrow. He knew Dean well enough to know that he must be just about at the end of his patience. "So, what do you think about what you've seen here, Dean?" his Angel friend asked him.

The elder Winchester shrugged. "Well, Cas, I've seen a lot of naked people, religious symbolism, and dead animals. We even saw one painting about your first night in Vegas."

Cas was puzzled. "Really, Dean? Which one was that?"

"'Death Of The Virgin'," Dean wisecracked.

And there was Gail and her bony elbow, again. "It was the second night, thanks to you," she muttered darkly. But then, as Dean rubbed his arm and glared down at her, the two of them made eye contact, and then they broke up laughing.

Sam and Michelle wandered over. "I'm kind of getting the feeling that you've had enough art for one day," she said to Dean good-naturedly. "How about if we go for dinner, and a couple of drinks?" She reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. "The President will buy you a nice meal. How would you like that?"

They were all silent for a moment. For the past couple of hours, the group had almost forgotten. This had felt like one of their previous outings, like that castle in Romania, or the maritime museum from where they had stolen Blackbeard's chest. Those occasions had been fun, even though there had always been an underlying purpose to them. But what was their purpose here? They'd found out very little about Benoit Levesque, and even less about the inner workings of his government. It was becoming increasingly more apparent to the group that Michelle didn't actually have much information to offer, in that regard. Could love really be that blind?

Cas glanced at Gail, sighing inwardly. Not only was love blind, it was frequently deaf and dumb, as well. How many of his flaws, sins, and transgressions had she forgiven, or simply overlooked, over the years? Just recently, Sam had been blinded by the love he'd felt for the son he had thought that he had fathered, and Becky had been so blinded by the love she'd felt for Sam that she had borne the Beast, presenting it to Sam as an offering of that love. As tainted and misguided as it might have been, in Becky's eyes it had been love, and love was both the strongest motivator and the fiercest and most dangerous emotion of all.

They had accompanied Michelle today with the aim of...what, exactly? Dissuading her from marrying Benoit? Now, Cas realized how foolhardy that notion was. If you loved someone enough to move to a different continent and marry them, your mind was pretty well made up, he thought wryly. And, once again, there was that little matter of their having absolutely no proof of the kind of man Levesque used to be, and the kind of man he still was.

But maybe some intel could still be gleaned. If they went to dinner with Michelle and plied her with wine, she might yet disclose something of value to them. At the very least, maybe they could find out some more about the child, Gerard. It was he who Gail and Rob had seemed to be concerned about, the most.

"Let's go to dinner, then," Cas said, manufacturing a smile.

Cody was sitting in Dr. Roarke's office, playing around with the computer and waiting. They were almost finished unloading the cages, and then he was supposed to return the forklifts to the various factories and warehouses he had borrowed them from.

Like Toby, Cody had convinced himself that the cages were going to be for test animals. He wasn't super-crazy about the apparent fact that the Doctor was going to be doing experiments on animals, but Cody was over 30 years old now, and he understood how the world worked. Benoit had hinted to some of his more mature cabinet members, Cody included, that Dr. Roarke was working on some very big projects. It was all very hush-hush, out of necessity, but if the Doctor was successful, they would soon have a cure for the worst, most pervasive disease the human race had ever known.

It had to be cancer, Cody and Toby had speculated over lunch. It just had to be. Wow. Imagine that. Almost everybody had a relative or a friend who'd had some kind of cancer, or whose lives had been adversely affected by the disease. In fact, Cody's adoptive mother had had breast cancer when he was an adolescent, and the disease had remained undetected for so long that it had ended up killing her. His adoptive father had been heartbroken after that, so heartbroken that Cody had basically been on his own from that point on. If Benoit and his associate could come up with the cure for cancer, Cody would do anything his boss asked of him. Anything.

As his fiancee and his once and future enemies were sitting down to dinner, Benoit Levesque was shutting down the computer in his office. Soon, he would go home and spend a bit of time with Gerard, before his son's bedtime. The President had only a week left of his existence as a bachelor. Truthfully, he didn't believe that very much of his day-to-day life would change. But it would be good to have Michelle at home when he got there, and he was aware that Gerard was looking forward to having a mother. Perhaps he would consider reducing the boy's dosage, once they got back from their honeymoon. Dr. Roarke hadn't been able to tell Benoit if there would be any longer-lasting effects of prolonged exposure to the formula. In any event, Gerard would be a lot calmer and more content once he had a companion. And then in a few more years, once he had grown into young adulthood, Benoit would see if he would be able to safely harness the young man's power.

The President sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Everything appeared to be running smoothly, according to the timeline he'd had in mind when he had achieved the office. The recently introduced policy of tattooing immigrants was going forward, with minimal opposition. The cages had been delivered to the facility, and soon, the designated officers he had carefully chosen would begin rounding up those immigrants without proper documentation, and taking them to the facility. Then, the cleansing of their nation would begin. Benoit hadn't been lying when he had told the young men that Dr. Roarke would be implementing a cure for disease. No, he hadn't been lying at all.

Benoit rose slowly from his chair. His ribs were still sore from the glancing blow of the bullet. He'd never seen it coming, although in retrospect, he probably should have. Fortunately, Ursula had been with him. The night before Michelle had arrived in Paris, Benoit had taken Ursula out to one of the more upscale restaurants in the downtown core. He'd had a big evening planned for them, because it would be their last, for a while. Once the bloom had come off the rose of his and Michelle's nuptials in the society columns, he and Ursula could resume their intimate relationship. But even though many people looked the other way with regard to their dalliance, Benoit knew that the public would only stand for so much.

Ursula had been stoically accepting of his explanation, and they'd had a nice, leisurely meal and some pleasant conversation. But then, when they had come out of the establishment, the car wasn't at the curb waiting for them, as it always was. Benoit had taken his cell phone out of his pocket to call for it and, as he was doing that, a man had stepped out of the shadows, shouted something unintelligible, and shot Benoit. Or at least, the man had thought he shot him. His hand had been shaking so badly that the bullet had merely grazed the front of Levesque's shirt. Then the would-be assassin had dropped the gun. And then, as Ursula stared at the stranger, large gashes had appeared on his face and hands, and then he was screaming in agony. So Benoit had called Dr. Roarke instead, and the Angel had winked himself over there to clean up the mess.

Benoit had never found out who the man was, or why he had tried to shoot the President. It had sounded like he was speaking a foreign language, and he'd had that swarthy look about him. There could have been a multitude of reasons. Benoit had never told Michelle about the incident, nor had he taken any precautions subsequent to the event. Maybe after the wedding, he would look into appointing one of his senior police officers as a bodyguard, when he and Michelle made public appearances. But Benoit was just arrogant enough to feel that he had all the protection he needed, in the form of people like Ursula. Benoit Levesque was the President of his country, and his people loved him. He knew that they did. He was keeping France safe.

He turned off the lights in his office and closed the door softly behind him.

Lorrie had been pacing back and forth, waiting for Benoit to descend the elevator to the parking garage. Since Benoit had loaned Luc and the limousine to Michelle for the day so she could take her American friends around the city, the President was driving himself home. Michelle had texted him a short while ago and said that she and her friends were having dinner and drinks, and would likely be out late. He'd responded that he was heading home, and to stay out as late as she wanted. Benoit was glad that Michelle had some American friends who had flown here for the wedding. Apparently, she didn't have a close relationship with anyone in her family. Not that Benoit cared, particularly; actually, considering the circumstances, it was best that way. But he did care for her, and the happier she was, the better it would be for him. He hadn't bothered to ask her who her friends were, how she knew them, or even what their names were, merely stating that she should have fun hanging around with them, and he would look forward to meeting them at the wedding.

As Benoit exited the elevator, he was surprised to see Lorrie there. "Good evening, my dear," he said with a raised eyebrow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You never talk to me any more," she said, her lips forming into a pout. "It's been ages since you took me shopping, or out for lunch. And it's been even longer since we...you know." She moved closer to him. "Ever since you decided you like Ursula better than me."

"Now, now, Lorrie, that's simply not true," Levesque protested calmly. "I'm getting married in a week. That's all there is to it." Actually, that wasn't all there was to it; not even close. Lorrie had had her uses, but he'd found that the more he gave her, the more she wanted. She was a young, attractive girl, and he hadn't been able to resist taking her to bed. But, the girl had an inexplicable sense of entitlement about her, even though most of the other young people they'd taken from the compound did not. He had been wondering if it was time to end their association, but he'd been putting off the decision until after the wedding. But there was one thing that Benoit was sure of: there was no way in hell that she was going to stand here and make him feel guilty.

Still, because Lorrie had the power to poison food merely by touching it, he supposed he'd better appease her for now. The last thing he needed was a Game Of Thrones-type situation at the wedding reception. So he pulled her close to him and kissed her, promising her that they would make a very special date, just the two of them, shortly after the wedding. Then the two of them got into his car, and then he asked her if he could drop her somewhere. One thing had led to the other, and then to the other, and they had ended up in Lorrie's bed. Benoit was philosophical about it; he and Michelle had agreed to abstain until the wedding night. In fact, they hadn't even planned on seeing each other at all, until she was walking down the aisle. There would be a lot of press there, he'd told her, and it would be more magical that way. Michelle had thought that was a very romantic thing for him to say.

Benoit extricated himself from Lorrie's embrace, and from her bed, a few hours later. He had gracefully declined her offer to make him a late-night snack, saying that he had some work to do when he got home. But she had been appeased when he'd left her apartment, Benoit was sure.

Predictably enough, Dean had been studying the menu at L'Evian for about ten minutes now, with a puzzled expression on his face. Michelle was sitting to his left, and Cas was to his right. He'd wanted to sit beside two people who spoke the language, so he would know what the hell he was ordering, Dean had announced. Just for fun, Gail had volunteered. He'd given her a sour look and said that he wanted to be able to lift his fork, when dinner came. Maybe if she would consider laying off him with her elbow for a while, he would let her sit beside him at the wedding. Gail had stuck her tongue out at him, then sat on Cas's other side.

"How adventurous are you feeling, Dean?" Cas asked his friend, looking at the menu over Dean's shoulder.

Dean surprised him by saying, "What the hell, Cas. I didn't come all the way to France to eat a cheeseburger. What do YOU think would be good?"

Cas's lips twitched. "Are you sure you want to leave that up to me?"

"Sure, Cas, I trust you," Dean said, closing the menu with a snap. "It's not like I understand a damn word of what I'm looking at, anyway."

When the waiter came, Cas ordered: "We'll have the escargots to start, and for the main course, cuisses de grenouilles and pommes frites."

Michelle and Gail were looking at Dean and at each other, and they were grinning, wondering if he had any idea what Cas had just ordered for him. Sam was bemused, too. He wasn't exactly sure about "cuisses de grenouilles", but he knew that Cas had ordered snails as an appetizer. It ought to be fun, seeing Dean's reaction when the food came.

"Would you like some wine, my love?" Cas asked Gail. He picked up the wine list.

She smiled at her husband. He was making a romantic gesture, but: "Maybe Michelle would like to order the wine," Gail told him, nodding toward their hostess.

Their friend smiled back. "No, you're doing just fine, Cas," Michelle remarked, sitting back in her seat. "Go right ahead."

After Cas ordered wine for the table in flawless French, Michelle was shaking her head in amazement. "Are you sure you're an Angel?" she asked him. "How do you know so much about wine, and art?"

Sam smirked as he passed the basket of bread to Dean. "Have you ever been to a church? They serve wine with communion, and they've got all kinds of artworks."

They joked around about that for a bit, and then the waiter brought the escargots. Dean looked down as the dish was placed in front of him, and his brow furrowed. "What are these things?" he asked out loud.

"Try one, Dean," Cas encouraged him. "They're really very good. You'll see."

Dean looked doubtful. He scanned the place setting on the table in front of him. Michelle touched his arm. "You use that little fork," she told him, trying not to laugh at his confusion. "Stab it, then dunk it in the garlic sauce."

"Stab it? OK; that, I can do," Dean said. He grabbed the fork and did as she'd directed, dunking the snail into the garlic sauce. He chewed it for a bit, then swallowed.

"Well? What do you think?" Cas asked his friend, curious.

Dean shrugged. "Kinda rubber-y, but I like that garlic stuff."

"Now, grab a piece of bread and sop up the sauce with it," Michelle advised. "That's the best part."

Dean obeyed, and Sam was smirking again. "You know what you're eating there, right?" he asked his brother. Dean looked at him. "No; what?"

"Escargot are snails," Sam said, breaking into a grin.

Dean paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Get outta here," he said suspiciously. Then he looked at Cas, who looked back at him calmly. "Are they?" Dean asked him.

"Yes, they are," Cas confirmed. "But, you said you liked them."

"Well, that was before I knew what they were!" Dean said petulantly. He dropped his fork on the plate.

Gail rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should have just ordered him a cheeseurger," she said to Cas, shaking her head.

When the main course came, Cas looked expectantly at his friend as Dean grinned. "French fries," he remarked happily. "Finally, something I want to eat." Then he picked up one of the cuisses de grenouilles, which was, of course, a frog's leg. "These are some pretty scrawny chicken legs, though."

Gail burst out laughing, and Michelle and Cas exchanged a glance. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?" their hostess said, her lips twitching furiously.

"They're frogs' legs!" Gail exclaimed happily, not waiting for the answer to that question.

"You're making that up," Dean accused her.

"No, she's not, Dean," Cas advised. "'Grenouilles' means frog. Just try it. Please."

Dean sighed, looking at the tiny piece of food in his hand. Then he took a cautious sniff, and then he bit into it.

"Well? What do you think?" Michelle asked him.

"Ribbit," Dean wisecracked. He gave her a half-shrug. "It's OK, I guess. But, geez; don't they have any normal food, here? Or something a little bigger, at least? Looks like they're gonna have to drain the swamp just to fill us up."

Michelle laughed. "Maybe I should have smuggled in some Louisiana bullfrogs. They grow them pretty big, in the bayou."

The humans began to tuck into their plates, and Cas steered the conversation in the direction of Benoit's politics. But, as he had previously suspected, she knew very little about what was actually going on behind the curtain, as the expression went. Michelle was not an unintelligent woman, so the only conclusion that he could reach was that she was simply being more than a little naïve. But Cas supposed he couldn't fault her for that. Levesque had obviously pulled the wool over the eyes of most of the members of the public. The man's poll numbers were extremely high, Michelle told the group proudly, and there hadn't been a single incident involving terrorism since "Ben" had been elected. Too bad their own country couldn't say the same.

The friends lingered at the restaurant for about an hour after dinner making small talk, mainly about the upcoming wedding. Then Michelle dropped the quartet off at their hotel. They all thanked her for the meal and the good company, and then the car drove away. Cas turned to the others. "We have a lot of work to do," he told them grimly.

A couple of days later, Benoit and Ursula were talking in his office, and Benoit was being sorely tempted to break the promise he had made to himself. The young woman was just past twenty-five years of age now, in the prime of her life. She was wearing a short skirt, and her blouse's top two buttons were undone. When she came around to his side of the desk and placed the documents in front of him for his signature, he could smell her perfume. As she leaned down to indicate where he was required to sign, a tendril of her long blonde hair came loose from the haphazard bun she wore during office hours, and it tickled his cheek.

Benoit's resolve broke. He grabbed Ursula around the waist, pulling her into his lap.

"What are you doing?" she asked him teasingly. "I thought - "

He silenced her with a kiss, and Ursula started to unbutton her blouse. She'd known he wouldn't be able to resist. She guessed her conscience should probably be bothering her; he was getting married in five days, and Ursula actually liked Ms. Delacroix. But she also liked the feeling of power she had when seducing Benoit. He was the President of the country. One word from him, and she could have anything she wanted. And right now, Ursula knew that it was her that he wanted. She knew that Lorrie had been running around after Benoit, but Ursula knew that he preferred her over that spoiled little brat. Ursula had already protected him against a would-be assassin; what had Lorrie ever done for him?

The door to Benoit's office opened, and his Press Agent walked in.

"Benoit, I need you to - " Jean stopped short. Ursula scrambled off the President's lap and began to do up her blouse, but it was too late.

Benoit was unruffled. "Yes, Jean? What do you need me to do?" he asked calmly.

Monsieur Hamelin was speechless for a moment. He was aware that many politicians, the males in particular, were not exactly paragons of virtue. Jean had been, to use the vernacular, a spin doctor for many of them, for many years now. He himself was single, and on the fence about the entire fidelity issue. But his first thought had been of public perception, as it always seemed to be. For God's sake, the President was getting married in just a few days.

But, was this the fight he really wanted to fight? Jean didn't think so. Ursula was very attractive, and so was Lorrie. Benoit probably didn't think his Press Agent knew, but he did. Sometimes, you had to save these guys from themselves. And, it could always be worse. Jean could be working for JFK. Imagine the full-time job THAT would have been.

"Hugh and the others are waiting in the boardroom," Levesque's Press Agent announced.

Benoit nodded. He'd been expecting this, of course. So why hadn't he locked the office door, then? Truthfully, he wasn't one hundred percent sure why. Had it involved the thrill of potentially being caught in flagrante? But that was so cliché, wasn't it? He couldn't have been testing Hamelin just to see how deep his loyalty went...could he have been?

"Tell them we'll be right there," the President said crisply, and with one more quick glance, Jean said, "Oui, Monsieur." Then he retreated.

"Go on ahead, my dear," Benoit said to Ursula, who was fully buttoned and calm again. "Tell them I'll be there in a minute."

Ursula left the room without another word, and this time, Benoit locked the door behind her. He crossed the room to his wall safe, which was secreted behind a portrait of his father. Once he and Michelle were married, Benoit was going to replace the picture with one of his happy family: bride, groom, and ring bearer, Gerard. He didn't have very much respect for his Press Agent as a man, but Jean Hamelin knew his job. Benoit had to give him that. Jean had told the President that some of his constituents had been raising questions about his father's politics, and past associations. No one had quite had the nerve to come out and use the word, at least not yet, but the inference was clear: Martin Levesque had been a Nazi sympathizer, to say the very least. And, the rumours and innuendoes went much further than that. Benoit's family fortune had been greatly augmented just prior to, and during, World War II. That fact had been easily explained away at the time; the Levesque family had many business enterprises, and there were some industries that thrived in wartime. It was an unfortunate fact of life that war created jobs, and demand for certain goods and services. But there had been whispers that Martin Levesque's wealth had been increased exponentially in the concentration camps, nourished on the flesh and blood of Jews and other minorities.

Benoit wasn't oblivious to all of this; he simply didn't care. Every rich and famous person he had ever heard about had had dirt thrown at them, from time to time. The trick was to keep yourself as clean as possible, however possible. Once he and Michelle were married, Benoit was going to make sure that they had a lot of heartwarming, public family moments.

But in the meantime, there was the Master Plan. He took the folder out of the wall safe and scanned the timeline. Everything was running on schedule. The seven young people from the compound were in the boardroom at this moment, awaiting his arrival. He was going to have his teleporter, Hugh, take them all to the warehouse. Under Dr. Roarke's and Benoit's own supervision, the special individuals were going to be given one more opportunity to display their unique talents there, before the culling process was begun.

He put the file back in the safe, replaced the portrait, and left the office, locking the door behind him.

Hugh, or "Huey", as he preferred to be called, was sitting in the boardroom, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. Ursula had just arrived, saying the boss was going to be there in a minute.

Huey looked around the room at the others. He was in his 20s now, like most of them were. Next to Jerry, of course, Huey was the youngest of the group. Some of them were exactly the same people as they'd been at the compound, except that they were chronologically older. Some of them had grown up and thrived as part of the government's cabinet, while others were restless and bored. Huey himself wavered from one state to the other, depending on the week. Sometimes, Benoit had him doing important stuff, like teleporting members of the French military to border checkpoints. But lately, the young man had been feeling like he was no more than a glorified gofer. Occasionally, he had taken one or two people here and there, and once in a while, even the President, himself. Aside from that, though, Hugh had just been twiddling his thumbs in his little cubicle, playing computer games and waiting to be called on. He guessed he had nothing to complain about, really. He was being paid a generous salary to do very little. Still, there was so much more that he could be doing. He could just look at groups of people and send them places, with his mind. Yeah, that was right; using only his mind. Which of his so-called brothers and sisters could do the same?

Most of the group didn't have that much to do with each other on a day-to-day basis. If they had been normal individuals, their shared experiences at the compound and then having been further abducted and brought here might have created a close bond between them. But, because their abilities were what they were, and because Benoit and Dr. Roarke had fostered a culture of competition and secrecy amongst them, Vincent's offspring were guarded and wary around each other, for the most part. Tenuous acquaintanceships had been struck up here and there, but they got the feeling that if push came to shove, any one of them would probably turn on any of the others at the slightest provocation. Maybe that was the way the old man liked it. All Huey knew was, if it came down to that, he was going to worry about his own hide. Let the others fend for themselves.

Benoit entered the room, greeting his special cabinet members with a wide grin. "It's so nice to see you all in one place," he said expansively. "Did Monsieur Hamelin tell you why I called you all here today?"

Jillian shrugged. "Nope. He never tells us anything."

Neither do you, Mr. President, Kim thought, but he didn't speak aloud. He was wearing his own face at the moment, since he hadn't been sure what the boss had in mind.

Toby and Cody were there too, and they were exchanging glances. Out of all of them, the two young men were the most cordial with each other, but they still weren't what could be termed friends. Toby had always been socially awkward, and Cody was a bit of a loner. They were both average-looking, to be charitable, and had had very little experience with girls, which was one subject they had bonded over.

Lorrie and Ursula sat to Cody's right, and the young men had been trying to figure out how to engage the young women in conversation. That whole half-sister thing notwithstanding, it was awesome just to be included in a small group that featured girls who were this beautiful, Toby thought. But he could tell that there was no love lost between the two of them, that was for sure.

Ursula was giving Lorrie the side-eye as Benoit entered the room. Lorrie had been looking at Ursula as if the blonde girl was something Lorrie had scraped off her shoe. What the hell was her problem? Ursula thought, annoyed. Did Lorrie know about Ursula and Benoit? So what if she did? Was she jealous? Probably. Lorrie was a spoiled little brat, who thought the world revolved around her. She was always looking for special treatment, and pouting if she didn't get it. What a bitch.

Lorrie was thinking the same thing about Ursula. Boy, would she ever love to remove that bleached-blonde bimbo from the game board. Maybe there could be a way, but Lorrie would have to be very careful about it. She knew what Ursula could do to her. In fact, Ursula probably would have done it by now, if Benoit would let her. But Lorrie knew that she was just as important as Ursula when it came to being a member of the team. Let her try it. She had to eat sometime, didn't she?

"Take us all to the warehouse, Hugh," Benoit said to the young teleporter. A moment later, the group was gone.

Eileen was pacing the floor at the headquarters of the Resistance, fingers flying, signing furiously.

"And the only thing the papers and the online news sites are reporting on is what types of pastries they'll be serving at the reception, and the deep, deep mystery of who designed the bride's dress!" the leader of the Resistance group fumed. "Nothing about the concentration camp tattoos, and nothing about the sudden disappearance of those people on the South side!"

Cecile let out a frustrated breath. She jumped up from her chair and grabbed her sister by the arm. "Stop pacing!" she signed. "I'm only getting every second or third word!"

"That's OK; most of them are probably just swear words, anyway," Neil wisecracked. His wife nudged him, but she was laughing, and so were most of the rest of the group.

Eileen stopped her pacing, and her expression relaxed somewhat. "I'm sorry, everybody," she signed, as Cecile translated for those in the group who didn't know sign language.

"It's all right," Neil's wife Celine said, still smiling. "We all know exactly how you feel."

The deaf woman sighed. They did, but they didn't. Neil and Celine were Canadians. They were very nice people, and very dedicated to the cause, but none of their family had been starved, tortured, and gassed to death, had they? Still, Eileen had to remember that all the people gathered here were on her side. Whether they had a personal stake in this or not, they were all here because they believed that opposing Benoit's Fascist regime was the right thing to do. To paraphrase, not only was it the right thing; it was the only thing.

"Look, we knew this was going to happen," Cecile said to the group. She signed for her sister out of habit, but Eileen could read her lips. She could usually make out a lot more than people gave her credit for, but sometimes, it suited her purposes not to let on. She frowned as Cecile continued, "Whether we like it or not, he's the most popular President France has had in a long time, and he's getting married in a few days. 'The Royal Wedding'. Meanwhile, he's playing bait-and-switch with this so-called Immigrant Identification Program. The only problem is, there's absolutely no proof that what Levesque is doing is anything more than what he's told us he's doing. I'm on the inside, and I can't come up with one scrap of proof that there's anything more ominous going on! Everyone who belonged to Les Rebelles Blancs is dead, so we don't have any witnesses to the fact that he was the leader of that group!"

"Yes, you do," Cas said, suddenly appearing in the middle of the room.


	7. For The Reckless Ones

Chapter 3 – For The Reckless Ones

The seven of them had been taken to the testing area by Dr. Roarke, one by one, until only Lorrie and Ursula were left, waiting to be called on.

Perhaps it was by design, but they were the worst two people Benoit could have left alone with each other. After a few minutes of them throwing surreptitious glares at each other, Lorrie couldn't stand it any more.

"Look, I know you don't like me, and I don't like you, either," the brunette said bluntly. "But I'm getting sick of you glaring at me, all the time."

"You should consider yourself lucky," Ursula said disdainfully. "If I was really glaring at you, you wouldn't be alive, right now."

Lorrie felt a chill, but she didn't want to seem intimidated. Still, she avoided Ursula's gaze by wandering around the room. They were in a place that looked like a mad scientist's laboratory, or something. Actually, that was probably a pretty apt comparison, she thought with faint amusement. That was exactly the type of guy Dr. Roarke was. He gave her the creeps. She picked up a beaker of liquid, and gave it a tentative sniff. Yuk.

Ursula was still staring at her, though, and Lorrie lost her temper. "What the hell is your problem?" she said, wheeling on the blonde woman.

"You are," Ursula told her. "What do you think is going to happen, here? I see the way you're looking at him. Well, don't bother. I've been keeping him very happy, and I'll continue making him happy after this weekend."

Lorrie laughed harshly. "Really? Well, if you've been keeping him so happy, then why is he sleeping with me?"

Ursula looked at her with an incredulous expression. "You're delusional," she said spitefully. "You only wish."

"Where do you think THIS came from?" Lorrie reached into her blouse and took out the gold necklace. Benoit had taken her shopping to L'Image, the most exclusive jewellery store in the city, and bought her the outrageously expensive piece. Then they'd had a sumptuous meal, and then...

Ursula was doing the slow burn, now. Benoit had never bought HER anything. The irony of being his mistress, and being jealous of Benoit sleeping with another woman a few days before his wedding to a third woman, was completely lost on Ursula. All she knew was that she was so sick of Lorrie, sauntering around like she was the most special person in the universe. "You're nothing to him," she hissed.

"Oh, and you think he's got feelings for YOU?" Lorrie scoffed. She was looking directly at Ursula now, forgetting for a moment about her power. All Lorrie knew was that somebody had to give this girl a wake-up call.

"It's me that he asks for help," Ursula said in a clipped tone, "not you. Not any of you. I can protect him. What are you? Just some slut he uses like a prostitute. Instead of giving you money, he buys you things. You're a whore, Lorrie. That's all you are."

"Oh? And you're not?" Lorrie said sarcastically. "Well, at least I'm getting something for it. And I'm going to keep on doing it, too, long after you start getting wrinkles, and your boobs are down to your knees. At least I don't have black roots, like you do. Who are you trying to fool, with that hair colour?"

Ursula was enraged, but she still didn't quite have the nerve to hurt Lorrie with her power. Benoit might be very upset to lose one of his staff like that. Still, she wanted to teach the bitch a lesson, so she looked around wildly for something to -

Perfect. Ursula saw a glass container full of clear liquid on the counter. She grabbed it and screwed the lid off, hurling the acid at Lorrie's face.

The young brunette was caught completely by surprise. The caustic liquid burned her eyes immediately, and then the flesh on her face began to bubble. She screamed, accidentally swallowing some of the acid, which then began to burn her throat.

"At least I still have my looks," Ursula said nastily. Then she turned on her heel and left the room, as Toby and Cody pushed past her. Toby dropped to his knees beside Lorrie, who was writhing on the floor. She'd stopped screaming by now, but by the time Cody had run to get help, Lorrie had passed out from the shock and the pain.

Benoit could have had Dr. Roarke or Huey transport Lorrie to the hospital immediately, but he chose to have Roarke call an ambulance, instead. Then, he had Huey take him and the others back to the office. He wasn't about to take the chance that someone might spot him or one of his cabinet members at the warehouse facility; not with what was going to be happening there shortly.

Dr. Roarke met the ambulance attendants outside in the parking lot. He had Lorrie bundled up in a blanket, and as the men rushed out of the vehicle with the gurney, Roarke placed her gently on the stretcher. He apologized profusely to the emergency workers, saying that the girl, who was an employee of his, had had a terrible accident. If they could please take care of her, he would dismiss the rest of the staff for the day, lock up the facility, and be right there.

Hours later, Lorrie had received as much care as the hospital had been able to give her, and she was sitting up in bed with a morphine IV drip in her arm. Visiting hours were over, but Dr. Roarke winked Benoit into her room. Then, the Angel stood guard at the door. It would not do for an employee to come into the room unexpectedly, and find the President there. Benoit could not be associated with the facility where she had been injured. On the surface, it looked like any other workplace, and there should be no reason for anyone to think otherwise. But Benoit had built his career on a solid foundation of respectability, and he meant to keep it that way.

As it was, a lot of money and influence would likely have to be utilized to ensure that there was no investigation done at the premises. But the President didn't think it would be too much of a problem. As far back as his leadership of Les Rebelles Blancs, he had known that anything could be accomplished, if the price was right. Anything.

He drew up a chair at Lorrie's bedside, forcing himself to look at her face. The acid had done its job very well. Lorrie's eyes were opaque, and the skin on her face was corroded, and an angry red in colour. She was truly repulsive to look at. Ursula hadn't even had to use her powers, though Benoit sorely wished she had. That was why he'd left the two girls alone, in the first place. Ursula was supposed to have done her thing, and then, once Lorrie was dead, he was going to have her cremated in one of the ovens. No muss, no fuss, except for the inevitable cleanup of bodily fluids. But for some reason, Ursula had pulled back, leaving him with this mess. What to do?

"How bad is it?" Lorrie said dully. Her tone was raspy; almost guttural. The acid had burned her vocal cords when she had opened her mouth to scream.

Benoit reached into her bedside table and pulled out her purse. He took out her compact, preparing to hand her the mirror, but then he stopped. "Can you see?" he asked her.

"Not really," Lorrie said in a tearful voice, her lower lip trembling. "I wouldn't be able to tell that it was you, if I didn't recognize your voice."

Levesque was silent for a moment. Then he dropped the compact back into her purse. "You're hideous," he said softly. "Grotesque. The sight of you makes me want to vomit."

He rose from the chair. "Do the right thing, Lorrie," Benoit added harshly. Then he strode over to Dr. Roarke, and the Angel winked him away.

Lorrie sat there for a while, thinking about her situation. Finally, she made up her mind. She pressed the call button, and when the nurse came, Lorrie told the woman she was starving. Could she please have something to eat?

The kitchen was closed, the nurse told her. But the young girl started to cry, and Beth felt sorry for her. The poor thing had been through such an ordeal. She would need to have multiple surgeries and years of therapy before she would be able to cope with her life, going forward. The least that Beth could do was show the girl a little kindness.

"I'll tell you what," she said to Lorrie, patting the patient's hand. "I brought some homemade stew for my supper. I'll bring you that, and I can get a sandwich for myself later on. Would you like that?"

Lorrie smiled and said that would be very nice. And when Beth brought her the stew on a plate, Lorrie took a bite and told the nurse that it was delicious. But, even though the morphine was helping, it would take her a little while to finish. Would Beth mind?

Not at all, the nurse said. She had to update some charts, anyway. Just push the call button when you're done, she advised the patient.

Once Beth had left her room, Lorrie took a deep breath, even though it hurt her throat to do so. She'd never actually done this before, of course, so she wasn't even sure it would work. But there was no other way.

She plunged her hand into the plate of stew, and concentrated.

Michelle hung up the phone in her hotel room, dazed by the news. Benoit had just called his fiancee to tell her that young Lorrie, one of his assistants, had committed suicide the previous night.

Michelle was shocked. What a terrible thing for the poor girl to have been through. Benoit had told her about the disfiguring accident, going light on the details. He'd been to see the girl at the hospital as soon as he'd received word that she was there, pledging his support. But Lorrie had been despondent. Prior to the accident, she had been a very attractive young woman, Benoit reminded Michelle. There were quite a few young men who had expressed an interest in her, he'd said sadly; but as far as Benoit knew, she had kept them all at arm's length. He really hadn't known the girl all that well. Perhaps she had been dealing with some other issues in her life. In any event, it was an awful shame. He was going to make sure to invite all of her young friends to her funeral, and he would be footing the bill, of course.

She hadn't known Lorrie, but Michelle had cried for the girl nonetheless. Then she had asked Ben if they shouldn't postpone the wedding. Wouldn't it be insensitive to celebrate such a joyous occasion less than a handful of days after a tragedy like this had befallen one of their own?

Benoit had cursed to himself. He hadn't thought of that. How would it look to the public? But the elaborate plans had all been made, and the bottom line was, he didn't want to postpone. After all, it wasn't his fault that things had worked out the way they had. If Ursula had just done her job properly, no one would ever have known about what had happened to Lorrie. She could have just...disappeared. Maybe Benoit could have told everyone she had resigned her post, and moved away. Now, at least the girl was dead, but she'd left a stain behind. He hadn't decided whether he was going to talk to Ursula about it, or not. Perhaps a little "accident" should be arranged for Ursula as well, if she wouldn't stay in line. It would be a real shame to lose that kind of power, though. But first, they would have Lorrie's memorial, and then would come his and Michelle's wedding.

"I think it's very good of you to make such an offer," Benoit said to his fiancee in that smooth tone he had. "But even though I didn't know the girl all that well, I happen to know that she was very much looking forward to our wedding. So are the rest of the staff. I think it could be just the thing to lift everyone's spirits, after such a sad incident. Besides, I confess I can't wait any longer to make you my wife. And Gerard is almost as excited as I am. He keeps on asking me when Maman Michelle is moving in."

Michelle smiled now. Gerard was adorable. Immature for his age, but she guessed that was understandable, considering the type of lifestyle Ben had his son accustomed to living. The boy was cloistered away in that mansion, deprived of interaction with people, especially kids his own age. Ben had expressed regret about this, but he'd said it couldn't be helped. When he had adopted Gerard, the boy had been terrified of other people. Then, after showing him love and compassion, Ben had gotten Gerard to emerge from his shell somewhat. But then, Benoit had been in the public arena, and then he'd been elected President, and he had worried about the possibility of kidnapping. So in the end, he'd kept the child at home and given him books and a computer, and had done his best to help Gerard in his education, when there was time in his busy schedule. Perhaps they could talk about sending him to private school, once Michelle had moved in.

Benoit had no intention of sending Gerard away to school, of course. With the boy's powers and present inability to control them without being dosed with Dr. Roarke's formula, it was far too dangerous. Luckily, Michelle had balked at the idea, telling her fiance that she would love to spend time with Gerard, and help him with his education.

So everything was on track, after what had turned out to be a minor setback only, Benoit thought to himself. He spoke to Michelle for a few more minutes, and then told her that he had to go. Arrangements for the memorial needed to be made. They would talk again, soon.

Back in the United States, Bobby was taking care of Heaven's business. He had finally bitten the bullet and called Crowley for a meeting.

The King was surprised to hear from his opposite number after all this time. It had been quite a while since he'd had to have anything to do with Heaven, or with any of the Angels. Who needed Eden? That was his version of Paradise, right there.

But at least it was Bobby calling, and not Castiel. Crowley was bemused when God had suggested that they take their meeting in a little hole-in-the-wall pub that Bobby used to go to once in a while, when he'd been human. At least they could have a drink while they were chatting, like civilized beings. Maybe even toss a few feathers; make a friendly wager. What could Bobby put up for grabs? If Crowley won, maybe his opposite number would agree to smite Frank or the Winchesters, just a little. Maybe they could go double or nothing on Cas.

When Crowley slid into the booth, Bobby surprised him again by having pre-ordered the King's favourite brand of scotch, which was on the table waiting for him. God was nursing a bourbon. The men clinked glasses silently and drank.

"Must be one hell of a favour you're looking for," Crowley said affably. "If you'll pardon the pun."

"Actually, what I need to talk to you about will benefit us both," Bobby replied calmly.

"Now, now, Bobby. I haven't done anything like that in years," Crowley joked. "Not since lights out, at boarding school."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap, Crowley. If I know you, and unfortunately, I do, you know exactly why I asked to meet."

The King took another sip, looking thoughtful. "It could be any number of things, I imagine. But if I had to guess, I would venture to say that you're looking for a few suggestions on what to get your grandson for his birthday. What does one get the Beast of the Apocalypse, anyway? Actually, the way things are going here on Earth, maybe a Thank You card would be in order. Tell Moose I'm sorry that whole parenting thing didn't work out for him, but at least he's rid of bubble-headed Becky, now. I always felt he could do much better."

Bobby let out a frustrated breath. "So, bottom line: Are you gonna help me find her, or not?"

"Her?" Crowley said, puzzled. "The Beast is young Brian, is he not?"

"Your intel isn't as good as you think," Bobby retorted, pleased to score a point on the King, for a change. "Yeah, the Beast WAS Brian. He goes by Damien, now. But it's not him that I'm talking about. It's Abbadon."

Crowley had been in the process of taking another sip, and he sputtered now. "Abbadon?!" he exclaimed. "Why would you be talking about THAT one? Dean killed her, years ago. I witnessed her murder, myself."

Bobby sat back in the booth, regarding Crowley over the rim of his glass. "Well then, ya might need to see the eye doctor, 'cause she's alive. She's teamed up with Vincent and Damien, and they're holed up somewhere. According to Vincent, Abbadon is the Angel of the Abyss."

The King regarded God for a moment, and then he brayed loudly. He laughed so hard that he had to grab a napkin to wipe his eyes. "Oh, believe me," he chortled, "Abbadon isn't an 'Angel' of anything. I haven't met anyone so corrupt, so perverse, and so diabolical in my entire existence. Well, except for myself, of course."

Bobby half-shrugged. "The question is, can you track her? If we can find her, we can try to find out what Vincent's got planned." His beard twitched briefly. "I don't think you'd have a problem with joining me and Gabriel in having a little conversation with her, right?"

Crowley's forehead wrinkled. "Gabriel? Why Gabriel?" he inquired. "Where's Castiel? Why send a Pekingese to do a pit bull's job?"

"Boy, your intel really IS slipping," Bobby said, smiling thinly. "Cas is...elsewhere right now, on another mission."

"Yes, I know," Crowley said smugly. "He's in Gay Paree with the Missus and the Winchesters, trying to prevent another Holocaust. I was just curious whether you were going to tell me, or not." He took another sip. "So, Gabriel, eh? Are you sure he's got the stomach for that kind of interrogation?"

"Leave that to me," Bobby said curtly. "Are you gonna help us, or not?"

Crowley considered this for a moment. The last thing he needed was Abbadon, back on the game board. What was bothering him now was the fact that he hadn't known that she was back. He hadn't been able to sense Abbadon's presence, at all. Even now, he sent out the feelers and...nothing. He sighed. God the Father, the Original Recipe God, certainly played fast and loose with the definition of retirement, didn't He? The King know that it could only be God Himself that he had to thank for Abbadon's re-emergence. What had he done lately, to piss his Father off so badly? Then again, who was he kidding? The list of possibilities was endless.

"I suppose I could lend a hand," the King said expansively. He drained his glass. "Fancy a game of Feathers?"

Kevin was sitting at his desk in Heaven, squinting at the text of one of the oldest, mustiest reference books their library had. He'd shut down his computer about an hour ago. There wasn't going to be any help there. The only thing he'd gotten about False Prophets on Google was pictures of televangelists, and things like that. Kevin had other team members working on the Beast of the Apocalypse, the Angel of the Abyss, and voodoo culture. Imagine that: he had a team of research Angels, a staff that he was the boss of. Him. Kevin Tran. His mom was walking around Heaven looking like she was going to sprout her wings any second now, and even Paul was acting like a proud father.

Truthfully, Kevin was kind of proud of himself for his elevated status too, but he'd been frustrated that he hadn't been able to come up with anything of any substance. Of course, it didn't help that the visions had started to come back, robbing him of his concentration. Just this morning he'd had a brief glimpse of a funny-looking, jewel-studded crown. Okie-dokie. So he'd waited, but there had been nothing further, so he'd gone back to work.

But now, a picture was coming in again, and it was pretty clear: A middle-aged woman standing out in an open field somewhere, lighting what looked like sticks of dynamite. Then she would throw them, but because the women threw poorly, she would have to retreat hastily from where they landed in order to protect herself from the subsequent explosion. Kevin almost smiled. He remembered playing those video games on Earth with Rob and the guys, and losing sometimes, when his character couldn't throw a grenade more than a few feet. They'd teased him, saying he "threw like a girl". Kevin knew it was politically incorrect and insulting to women to think that way, but it was the first thing he'd thought of when seeing that woman.

Unfortunately, he didn't know who the lady was, or what the significance was of what he was seeing. So once again, when no further information was forthcoming, Kevin bent his head to the reference book.

He had no way of knowing that the field the woman had been standing in was located due east of Paris, and the woman was Alice.

Cas and Gail and Sam and Dean were at the Resistance headquarters on the day before Benoit and Michelle's wedding.

After a less-than-stellar introduction, their individual groups were merging seamlessly now.

When Cas had just suddenly appeared in the middle of the room a few days ago, a couple of the men who had been holding guns had shot him multiple times, out of reflex more than anything else. Cas had stood there stoically and borne the bullets. They wouldn't do any lasting damage to him, but it was a good thing he had packed several shirts, he'd thought wryly.

Still, he couldn't blame them too much. People had to be very careful when opposing a Fascist government. All too often, people who did oppose that sort of regime tended to go missing, under mysterious circumstances.

Following their outing with Michelle, the two Angels and the pair of Winchesters had had a brainstorming session. Since their American friend was going to be of no real help to them when it came to finding out about the inner workings of Benoit's government, they'd had to come up with another method of getting to him, and to Vincent's kids.

Unfortunately, none of them could seem to come up with a definitive answer as to how to tackle the problem. If it had just been a simple matter of assassination, Cas could take care of that easily. Any one of the four could, but it would be much safer for an Angel to do it. Such a high-ranking politician was bound to have plenty of security protecting him, some of whom were visible, and some of whom were not. Also, even if Gail was able to recognize one of Vincent's offspring in time, she had advised the men that at least a couple of them had lethal powers, ones that could be utilized from a distance.

So it wasn't just Benoit that posed a problem, it was those young people, too. Sam had proposed trying to infiltrate the government, but both Cas and Dean had argued that they didn't see the point. Besides, that would take too long. Every instinct they all had was telling them that the guy was on the verge of starting a full-scale genocide.

Then had come the lucky break: the quartet had decided to go to the government building to see if they could spot any of Vincent's offspring heading in or out of the place. Then, depending on which one of them it was and what sort of powers they had, they would determine the next course of action. At least, it was someplace to start, anyway. This was proving to be the most complicated situation they had ever faced.

They had staked themselves out in a small bistro across the street from the building. Benoit knew who all four of them were, of course, but Gail was the only one that the young people would recognize. So she sat beside Cas at the table by the window, hiding herself behind him but periodically peeking out at the people who were coming and going.

Just as they had begun to think they were wasting their time, Sam spotted a woman coming out of the building and getting into a car that was parked around the corner, by the alleyway. What had caught his eye initially was that she looked like she was crying. Then, when she got into the vehicle, the woman began to gesture wildly with her hands. What the - ? Wait a minute. The woman was signing.

Sam had a fairly rudimentary knowledge of sign language, so he was able to make out bits and pieces of the communication. A while back, when the Winchesters had had some downtime between supernatural cases and Angel emergencies, Sam had started to take an online ASL course. He had been thinking about doing that for a while. It was something that Sam had always wanted to learn. A couple of times, he and Dean had encountered a deaf person in the course of an investigation, and Sam had thought that having some knowledge of American Sign Language would be very useful.

That was mainly what Cecile had been using to communicate with Eileen, when Sam spotted them. Like many other languages, the signs that the sisters used were based on ASL guidelines, but they also had their own signs for certain terms, almost like a separate dialect. Still, Sam was able to pick out a few words here and there, enough to determine that the woman who'd gotten into the car from the government building worked in Benoit's cabinet, and the cute brown-haired woman she was signing with was named Eileen, and she was the leader of a Resistance group that was dedicated to opposing Benoit's regime.

Now they were finally getting somewhere. The Angels and the humans hurriedly paid their bill and hailed a cab that was parked at the curb just outside the bistro. And, in a moment they would laugh about much later, Dean was able to use one of the biggest movie cliches in the world when he looked at the cab driver, pointed to Cecile and Eileen's vehicle, and said, "Follow that car."

Usually, the women were very careful about being followed. But their attention wasn't really on the surrounding cars. Cecile had been crying for a reason; she had just finished reading a Confidential memo that had been on Jean Hamelin's desk, that stated that the arrests of the undocumented immigrants had begun. They weren't using the term "arrests", of course. The people were "detainees". They were being held in an undisclosed location, and the parents were being separated from their children, and in many cases, even from each other. There were no further details supplied.

"How can they do this?" Cecile had signed angrily to her sister. Eileen had gone on an expletive-laden tirade, commanding Sam's attention. He could only understand part of what she was saying, but what he was getting would have amused him, under other circumstances.

This was no laughing matter, though. The quartet were grim-faced as they followed the women to the Resistance headquarters. Cas had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This sounded all too familiar to him; although he was still unaware of his own connection to the events, this was the sort of thing that had gone on during the Holocaust. It was all too easy to imagine what would befall those families, if it hadn't, already.

When they'd arrived at the sprawling ranch house that was the headquarters of the Resistance, Cas had winked himself inside the place, and once they'd gotten over the shock of his explanation about what he was and the reason that he and his little group were there, the alliance had been formed.

Sam and Dean were pooling their weapons with those that the Resistance group had amassed, and they were bonding with some of the men and a couple of the women over the selection and effectiveness of the various guns. Eileen had been delighted to discover that Sam knew sign language, and she loved that he had a good sense of humour, too. Not that there was a whole lot to laugh at in this situation, but sometimes, both of them had agreed, a little black humour went a long way towards helping cope with the kind of ugliness that had been going on in Eileen and Cecile's country.

Most of the people in the Resistance group, which numbered a few dozen dedicated members and a handful of sympathizers, were originally from France. Luckily for the Winchesters, most of them spoke fairly good English. Cas was good in either French or English, as was Gail, but he had admitted to his wife that he was at a total loss when it came to the sign language that Sam and the two sisters were using.

"Now you know how we feel, every time you bust out one of your other languages," Dean had said to his Angel friend. Cas have him a half-shrug, acknowledging the point.

Eileen had been very glad to find out that the quartet had the inside track on the former operations of Les Rebelles Blancs, but she was less than pleased to discover that they had absolutely no proof of what they all knew to be true. Out of necessity, they had informed the group about Vincent's offspring, as well. That had been another interesting conversation, to say the least. Angels, and children with supernatural powers? What the hell was this, Eileen had signed, The Twilight Zone?

But in the end, the American quartet had far too much detailed information for their new friends to be able to deny that they were telling the truth. And there had been that incident with Cas, that first day. The fact that he had appeared in the house out of nowhere and survived multiple gunshots had been one hell of a convincer.

"We have been invited to the wedding, tomorrow," Cas was saying now, as Cecile signed for Eileen. She could read Cas's lips for the most part, but their leader wanted to make sure she missed nothing. This was way too important.

Neil was outraged. "You're actually going to the Nazi bastard's wedding? Did you get him a present, too? Maybe a nice tablecloth with a swastika on it, or a lampshade made out of human skin?"

"Neil!" his wife Celine exclaimed. She smacked him on the arm, hard, and nodded towards Eileen and Cecile. They all knew that the sisters had lost most of their ancestors in the camps.

"I'm sorry, ladies," Neil said, instantly contrite. "It just makes me so mad - "

Eileen was signing. "Me, too," she said, nodding vehemently.

Cas's lips were pressed tightly together, but he bit back the retort he'd been about to offer. Actually, Neil reminded him quite a bit of Frank. That was something that Gail's brother would have probably said, if he were in Neil's position.

Gail wasn't as charitable. "Look, we hate this guy as much as you do," she said to Neil, shaking her finger at him. "Probably more. We have a personal history with him. I had to deal with him in close quarters at that compound. I had to look at his big, fat, stupid Nazi face and resist the urge to slit his throat, trying to save all those kids from being blown up! Do you know how hard that was for me? Do you know how guilty we all feel for not having killed the crap out of him in the first place?"

She took a deep breath. Wow. Where had that come from? Suddenly, she had a vision, a mental flash of a bunch of people working in a factory, and Cas in a suit, wearing a fedora. What the hell?

As Gail shook her head in reaction to the image, Neil sighed. "I'm sorry, Short Stuff," he said to her. Like Cas, Gail thought of how much Neil reminded her of Frank, with a dash of Gabriel thrown into the recipe. As soon as they'd been introduced, the French-Canadian man had stood to his full height, looked down at Gail, and dubbed her "Short Stuff". His wife Celine had apologized for Neil, saying that her husband was one of those types of men who tended to just say whatever was on his mind, and worry about the possible consequences later. Gail had laughed and said that she had one just like that at home; her brother was the same way. Then Celine had laughed too, and Neil and Cas had smiled, and the two couples had shared a nice moment.

But, nice moments or not, there was no way that Gail was going to put up with anybody talking to Cas like that, or to any of their group. They all felt terrible enough about having let Benoit get away before; not just once, but twice. What the hell had they been thinking? Now look at the mess they had on their hands. How many deaths had he caused already, and how many more might there be, if they didn't act now?

Cas took Gail's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was still shaking from her tirade, and his frown deepened. He respected how dedicated the Resistance group was, and he understood and shared their frustration about having been unable to stop Benoit from pushing through his insidious agenda. They had tried to overcome the New Order by lawful means, but Eileen was edgy and tired of waiting, and Cas agreed completely. He appreciated Gail's love and support as always, but with every passing hour, he became more and more aware that they had no more time to waste.

"We will go to the wedding, because there will be security there, scanning the invitations and verifying the chip imbedded in them," Cas said in a clipped tone, still stinging from Neil's comment and Gail's upset reaction. "Michelle has informed us that all but one of Vincent's progeny will be there; all except for one of the young girls, Lorrie, who is now deceased. We will abduct them from the reception, and kill Levesque. If whoever is here wants to go to the venue, you're welcome to come along. But be very aware that we can't guarantee your safety. There are seven young people we will have to neutralize, some with lethal powers. My wife is the only one of us who knows what they look like, so she will be instrumental in spotting them and helping to subdue them. Once they are all contained, I will go for Levesque, myself. You can bring all the weapons you want, but they will only be so effective. I don't want anyone here to minimize the potential risk. Even Gerard, the young boy, possesses extremely lethal powers. I would suggest that anyone who wishes to help can come along, but as backup, only. You may take your instructions from any one of the four of us."

Eileen walked over to where Cas stood and faced him, frowning. Sam moved up too, getting ready to translate. The younger Winchester wondered how what Cas was saying was going over with these people. Eileen couldn't hear the tone of their new friend's voice, of course, but when Cas got into soldier mode, he came across as imperious, to say the least.

Eileen stared at Cas for a moment, and then her hands began to move. "You heard the man," the leader of the Resistance signed. "Let's pack up the weapons and get ready to mobilize tomorrow, on Cas's signal."

She tipped him a salute, and Cas nodded his head to her in acknowledgement. It was a good leader indeed who could put aside their pride and personal feelings for the greater good of a successful mission. He made a vow to himself to compliment her on this, later on.

But right now, the mission was the mission. "We'll be back here first thing in the morning, and then, we will mobilize," Cas said grimly.

Alice had abandoned her tests with the sticks of dynamite by now, because at the eleventh hour, she had been able to come up with a much better plan.

It had proven to be a lot more difficult to obtain explosives than she'd originally thought it would be. Any number of weapons and munitions were available in the States, if you knew where to go, and which rocks to look under. She had several shady sources back home, where she could obtain any number of deadly instruments. But she had been unable to bring any of them on the plane with her, of course. When she'd gotten to Paris, she had contacted the dealer whose information had been provided to her by one of her black market sources in the U.S., but the man had stonewalled her, saying he had never heard of the guy she was referring to, and he had no idea what she was even talking about.

Thus stymied, she had attempted to buy a gun, but the rules and regulations in place for ownership of a firearm in France were maddeningly restrictive. Since she was a foreigner, she would have to get a special letter of permission from the American consulate, after a suitable waiting period, of course. She would have to bring her passport, and a couple of other pieces of identification. Then...

Never mind, Alice had said, sighing. Then she had exited the store and walked to a park down the street, sinking onto a bench to think. The weather was warm and pleasant, but the park's serenity was marred by some hammering from a construction site across the way. She frowned. Apparently, America didn't have a monopoly on noise pollution.

But then, a sudden inspiration hit her. Construction! Didn't construction companies use explosives, sometimes?

After some further research, Alice had been able to locate one such company. She had gone there in the dead of night and used a gris-gris bag to hex the guards on duty, then stolen a case of dynamite. When Kevin had had his vision of Alice, she had been testing her proficiency with it. But she'd been frustrated once again, finding that one individual stick of dynamite was not nearly destructive enough. And, even if it had been, she'd found that she was incapable of throwing it any appreciable distance. It looked so easy in spring training, she'd thought with uncharacteristic humour. But the bottom line was that she was going to have to abandon that approach. She'd been hoping to take out all eight of Vincent's bastards at once. Alice had no way of knowing that there was already one less target. Benoit had greased the right palms, and the story of Lorrie's suicide had gone unreported.

She'd been on the verge of giving up and flying back to the States to regroup, when the lucky break had occurred: her contact had e-mailed her with instructions to go to a certain location at a specific time, if she still needed assistance with her "business needs". Once again, Alice had found herself grimly amused. But she could certainly understand the need for discretion, considering what she was in the market for.

The meeting had taken place, and the deal had been made. Alice had had to pay through the nose, but she had come away from the transaction with enough high-grade explosives to do the job.

The news services had all reported many details on the upcoming nuptials, including the church where the ceremony was to take place, the processional route to the reception, and the address of the reception hall. The ceremony and reception were going to feature armed police guards at every entrance and exit, and the processional motorcade was going to incorporate the French military. Pomp and ceremony, befitting a Head of State.

In order to use the explosives to their full effectiveness, Alice had to make sure that her targets were all in the same place, at the same time. The logical venue would probably be the church. However, even if she was able to break into the church somehow, eluding the security detail, she couldn't quite bring herself to contemplate setting off bombs in a church. There were still a few lines she wasn't prepared to cross. A strange thought, coming from a woman who had killed so many young people, including her own adopted son. But Alice didn't view what she was doing as murder. She was ridding the world of Vincent's abominations, one by one. She was on a divine mission.

The reception hall, then? She took the Metro to the area, getting off the train at the station where, ironically enough, an unfortunate young girl named Lise had blown herself up to escape her domestic abuse at the hands of Etienne, Benoit's right-hand man, when the President had been the head of Les Rebelles Blancs. It was also ironic that the headquarters of the white supremacist organization had also blown up, at the hands of an Angel of the Lord who was currently in a Paris hotel room making love to his wife, as the Angels waited out the night until the morning. The very same Angel who had transported Etienne deep into the catacombs below the Parisian streets and left him there in the dark, terrified and bloody, to become a meal for the rats. All that was left of Etienne now were a few stray bones with tooth marks on them, and Castiel was determined to ensure that come tomorrow, Etienne's former boss would be joining him among the ranks of the dead.

Alice walked to the venue where the next day's wedding reception was to be held. It was an unassuming, fairly ordinary Parisian building which had been converted into a place for banquets and large parties. Astonishingly, there were no guards posted around the place, just a sign at the front entrance, in both French and English, stating that the place was going to be closed the next day, for a private event.

This was unbelievable. People were walking past the building, not giving it a second glance. Could it really be as easy as this?

She walked past the place and around the city block it was situated on, slowly and casually. Just another American tourist, enjoying a balmy spring afternoon in one of the most romantic cities in the world.

Alice appeared to be nonchalant, but she was eyeing the building from all angles, gauging the likelihood of the explosives being detected if she were to plant them in certain spots. She completed her recon, satisfied that her plan was a viable one, then hailed a taxi to take her back to her hotel.

"So, Eileen's a real badass, isn't she?" Dean said to his younger brother as they cracked open a couple of beers. It was nighttime now on the eve of the wedding, but both of them had been too edgy to sleep. They'd better have their act together tomorrow, though. Hunting monsters was one thing, but they were playing in the High Limit room now. A Nazi President, the French military, and youths who could kill a person just by looking at them. Yeah. Good times, Dean thought, shaking his head. But they were used to bucking the odds by now, and they had a lot more backup than usual this time, in the form of the Resistance group.

Sam smiled in response to Dean's question. "Yeah, she is. I'm glad I taught myself some sign language, but I think I need a lot more practice. I tried to make the sign for the word 'fight', when I was trying to find out how much experience she and her sister had, and she told me I'd actually signed a slang word for a particular sexual position, instead." His smile widened into a grin. "Which made the rest of my question really, really awkward."

Dean smirked. He wished he'd been there for that; it would have been fun to have seen the look on Sammy's face. "Oh, so your interest in her is only academic, then," he teased his brother.

Sam continued to grin, but he didn't rise to the bait. He didn't have to. His big brother knew him very well. Despite the very real danger they would be facing tomorrow, and the horrors that a guy like Levesque represented, Sam realized something: he hadn't really thought about the boy who was supposed to have been his son since the four of them had gotten here. The change of venue and the need to concentrate on something much bigger than himself and his heartache had been just the kind of medicine that Sam had needed. Provided they didn't all get themselves killed tomorrow, of course.

"We'd better try to get some sleep," Sam said, finishing his beer. He got into bed and closed his eyes, picturing Eileen's eyes, and her smile.

Elijah was sitting behind his desk, writing notes for the speech he was going to make the next day. He leafed through the Bible, picking out the most impressively apocalyptic phrases he could find. This was going to be quite an occasion. His followers had been coming in slowly, in dribs and drabs, as Eli's mother used to say. But followers were followers, and now, he had a couple of dozen of them. Even Jesus had to start somewhere, he thought with amusement.

But Elijah wasn't Jesus, he was just a man, one who had been raised in an extremely fundamentalist, religious household. He believed in the Bible, and the teachings he'd received at his parents' feet. Every night when he and his siblings sat on the floor in their living room, Eli's mother and father would read to their children from the Bible. But the vast majority of those readings, and the lessons that had followed, had consisted of dire warnings, and apocalyptic scenarios. Sin and punishment. An eye for an eye. Hadn't Isaiah written about the Lord's wrath, stating that He was going to lay waste to the world, and devastate it, using people as "the fuel of the fire"? Or had that been Eli's father, embellishing the Scriptures? In any event, Isaiah had been a Prophet, so that was good enough for Elijah, who had come to believe that he was a Prophet, too. He must be; he kept having visions of the sky darkening, and the Trinity on a mountaintop, watching as the bowels of the Earth regurgitated their Army. But this wasn't the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit that Eli had been seeing, though the man and the boy were indeed father and son. No. Not even close. The Trinity were Papa Lega, Damien, and the Angel of the Abyss, who was a beautiful but very wicked woman. Boy, had the legends ever gotten THAT wrong.

At first, Elijah had rejected what he had been envisioning as a lie. This Unholy trio was the complete opposite of everything that Eli had ever been taught to believe in; weren't they? But then, Eli had started to think about it, really think, about what the three of them represented. The world had gone crazy in the last couple of decades. Up was down, black was white, and vice versa. What the Earth needed now was a good cleansing. Eli's parents had been saying that kind of thing when he was just a child, and he realized that it was even truer, now. Vincent's triumph would signal the End Times, and those who wanted to survive had better heed The Word. And who better to give it to them than a modern-day, self-professed Prophet by the name of Elijah, who was poised to become bigger and better than David Koresh or Jim Jones ever dreamed of being?

Because this time, it wasn't going to be the bad guys who were going to lose. Up was down, black was white. Lies were the new truth, and the False Prophet was going to be one of the last men standing, after the smoke had cleared from the burning of the Earth.

"Yeah, Bobby. OK. I'll be there in a couple of minutes," Gabriel said impatiently. He shook his head to clear the echo that God's transmission had left behind. Although nobody would ever have the deep and compelling voice of authority that his Father had, the reigning God also had a way of expressing himself that left little room for back-talk.

Gabriel turned his attention back to the matter at hand: finding the third one. Where the hell WAS the guy? It had taken about a hundred years in-between, but the other two had finally been eliminated. But there was a loose end out there somewhere, somebody who could bring the whole thing tumbling down. Gabe had been designated to take care of it, but now Bobby was summoning him, and Bobby was God. The Brother who was pulling the Archangel's strings right now wouldn't be pleased, but he wasn't in the position to call the shots. Not yet, anyway. Once everyone who knew the truth was dead, he would emerge to claim what was rightfully his.

Bobby called again, and Gabriel shook his head again. He looked down at the book he'd been studying. The Bible. Gabe knew, more than most of Heaven's denizens, that there were a lot of myths and legends in that book. But there were also a lot of clues in it too, clues which would assist certain people in unlocking the truth to past and future events, if they only knew where to look.

But, it was strange: Bobby had asked Gabriel to look for any clues about the so-called Apocalypse that Vincent was planning. What form would it take? How could they prepare for it? Crowley had said that he would be in touch when he located Abbadon, but so far, nothing. It was spring, now. Damien was due to turn ten years old in the autumn, and from what Bobby had been given to understand, once that happened, and once Vincent found the False Prophet to complete his happy little League of Doom, they could all just pucker up and kiss their asses goodbye. Gabriel had smirked briefly at that, despite the seriousness of the situation, trying to picture the original God the Father using that kind of terminology.

When he'd looked down at the Bible after Bobby's second wake-up call, though, Gabriel saw that he hadn't been looking at references to the Apocalypse, the Beast, or the Angel of the Abyss, like he was supposed to be doing. Instead, he had the book open to the writings of Matthew. Matthew? What would HE have known about the Apocalypse? He was long gone, anyway. Lucifer had sucked ol' Matt into his vortex along with the other Gospel writers, and when Matthew had gotten an inkling that he was about to be busted, he'd taken his own life. That was what Cas and Bobby had said, anyway, because that was what they had believed at the time. But, like many other things that they thought they knew the facts about, Matthew's suicide had not been a suicide at all. It had been an assassination, a murder that had been perpetrated to eliminate one of those who had known the truth. The truth about what? Gabriel had no idea, just as he had no memory of having been the one to have killed Matthew in the first place. There had been a number of modifications performed on the Archangel over the centuries, and there would be more to come, until everyone who needed to die was finally dead.

Gabriel closed the Bible and left his room in Heaven to answer Bobby's call.

END OF BOOK 45.


End file.
